


Growing Up Winchester: TIME STAMPS

by Deadmockingbirds



Series: The Winchester's Series [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Chastity Device, Daddy!Sam, Diapers, Drama, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, Little!Dean, M/M, Naughty Step, Non-Consensual Spanking, Sex, Smut, Spanking, Time Out, Uncle!Dallas, Underage Kissing, bottles, cuteness, minors having sex with minors, papa!Cas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-04-03 19:12:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 93,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4111924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deadmockingbirds/pseuds/Deadmockingbirds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This will be a collection of Time Stamps that don't fit in with the plot, but are just fun!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Farmer's Market

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place just before Growing up Winchester begins, so: PRE-TEXAS. PRE-TIGGER MASSACRE. PRE-POTTY-TRAINING
> 
> I was at the Farmer's Market on Sunday and I couldn't help, but picture what our little family would be doing if they were there. Yes I did buy an EIGHT dollar jar of pickled beans.
> 
> This is our little Dean fix for the week since I didn't write a chapter of GUW as I try to catch up the two stories (I sure needed one). 
> 
> Enjoy!

Cas brings down my surly, sleepy boy. So far, Dean is not a morning person and he dislikes being woken up. I don't like to let him sleep too long, or he doesn't go to bed at night. My poor boy has to suffer through being woken up at eight am.

Today I'm hoping he won't mind, we're going on a little Winchester field trip; Michael's even coming. I think he'll forgive us.

Dean's curled into Papa with Tigger _and_ his blue beddy-bye blanket. He's pissed. Cas is kissing his head and trying to soothe him—he's not crying, but he's sucking his soother unimpressed.

Soon as they get close, he reaches for Daddy and I take him and give him Daddy cuddles. His little brow is furrowed and he's frowning. "Is sleepy, Daddy. Dean doesn't like to get up," he complains around his soother. Yet you should have heard the fuss he kicked up over going to bed last night.

Thankfully, I'm good at translating soother.

"It's a hard life for Dean 'Chester," I tell him. "You want to help Daddy with breakfast?"

"No."

I try not to laugh. "Okay. You can cuddle Daddy while I make breakfast."

"That's ridiculous, Sam. Let me take him back."

I give him a look that says 'do you really want him to freak right now?'

It's a hard decision for Cas. He constantly wars with what we _should_ be teaching him and keeping Dean happy. But Cas usually ends up spoiling the pants off our boy—well, for Cas. "Can I help?"

"Just have a cup of coffee, Cassy. I've got everything handled." I live for this. I love taking care of my family more than anything else, which is why Cas finally let me take on more responsibility. We still have Chef Andrew, but not as often. He makes us dinner, but not breakfasts or lunches.

I serve him up a cup, with the baby on my hip, if just to show him I've got it covered. "Read your newspaper, Cassy," I say in a way that's a gentle suggestion and in no way an order.

He smiles. "Thanks, Baby."

"Isn't nice, Daddy."

"What isn't nice?" I say as I crack eggs into a bowl with one hand.

"Isn't nice to wake up Dean 'Chester. Was havin' sweet dreams."

I always tell him to have sweet dreams; guess he took it to heart. "I'm sorry, my babe. But we've got exciting things to do today. Daddy didn't want you to miss out."

I can almost feel him thinking about that. Finally he takes his soother out (which is a good sign) and asks, "what we gonna do?"

"We're going to the Farmer's Market!" I say in a joyful tone, trying to get him excited.

"Don't like goin' there, Daddy."

"But Michael's coming," I wheedle.

"Michael stays here with Dean."

"Don’t you want to pick some fun things for Daddy to make you?"

"Dean trusts Daddy. Youse makes good things, like Dean burgers."

I've helped raise a billion Colt children without this problem, but suddenly I'm constantly being outsmarted by my own three year old. I resort to bribery. "They have popsicles there."

"Dean has a posicle, Daddy?"

"You can have two."

"Changed my mind. Dean likes to come to the Farmer's Market Daddy."

I thought that might 'change his mind.'

Now I should clarify for the viewers at home. _These_ popsicles are made fresh by this sweet girl who is a now frequent vender at the Farmer's Market. But wasn't there the last time we took Dean. She uses fresh, in season fruits, minimal, all natural cane sugar and that's it. I've been assured it's pretty much like eating blended fruit that's been frozen in a Popsicle shape. But there is some sugar in it (cane sugar is still sugar, just a better kind than evil high fructose corn syrup) and Dean won't know the difference.

I never let him have the popsicles they give out at the church (I know, I'm a mean Daddy) and it's a big deal to him. I'm a horrible Daddy, preying on his vulnerabilities, but I want to keep him going to the Farmer's Markets.

I want him to know the people he buys his food from. If I have to bribe him with popsicles, so be it.

He's clearly excited now and waking up. "Dean and Tigger has some juice please, Daddy?"

"Of course. Will you sit with Papa now and drink it like a good boy?"

"Uh-huh, Daddy."

I sit my little Dean bundle beside his Papa with a sippy cup of fresh orange juice. "Daddy says Dean has a posicle, Papa," I hear him tell Cas. It's his way of asking-not asking, making sure Papa's okay with it too. Dean already knows Papa's the boss.

"He did?" Cas says, acting surprised, even though I'm sure he heard the whole conversation.

"Yeah, and two! Daddy says two Papa."

"Wow. It must be a special day."

Not one hundred percent satisfied that's a yes, he tells Papa, "youse could probably have one too, Papa."

"Maybe we'll all have one. How does that sound?"

"And Michael, and Uncle Dally too?"

"Yep."

He smiles with a little giggle. "Thank-you, Papa."

He's wide awake by the time I'm ready to serve up breakfast, babbling wildly to Papa and Dally (who came down ten minutes ago) with his soother out, in a much better mood. I join everyone and we have a nice breakfast.

Michael comes scowling in, just as we're finishing. "Michael!" Dean shouts.

"Dean. No screeching please," Cas says.

"Okay, Papa. But, but, but, Michael's here," he says like it might be an acceptable excuse for screeching.

"I can see that, but we don't live in a barn."

"Oh." I don't think Dean quite knows what that means and if he does, he decides not to pursue that with Papa, too excited over Michael's arrival. "Hi Michael," Dean says making reachy hands at him, demanding to be picked up without words.

The young boy, or rather, the angel who looks like a young boy, makes a displeased face at Dean, while picking him up anyway and setting him on his hip. "What's got you all worked up this morning?"

"We's is goin' to the posicle place Michael and Papa says everyone can has posicles; two for Dean."

Michael looks at me to check if this is for real, or Dean telling stories, or getting things mixed up; he knows I don't let Dean have the other kind of popsicles.

"Yep. We're having the good kind," I explain.

"See? Is the good kind, Michael."

Michael gives Dean a leveling look. "Did you eat all of your breakfast, Duck?"

"Yep."

"Did someone change you?"

"Papa does it."

"Lordy Be, Michael. Dean's all set, I promise. If you need to do something for him, how about get his shoes on?"

He gives me a dirty look. "I think I will, thank-you."

~TS~

"No! Not wearing those shoes, Michael, is too hot."

"You're not wearing sandals. You always trip and fall in those shoes. They should be banned for children under ten years of age."

"Okay, what are you two arguing about now?" Daddy asks.

"Dean wears sandals Daddy. Those shoes is too hot."

"Of course you can wear sandals Dean Bean," Daddy says oblivious to just how much of a battle that was between Michael and me. I smirk victoriously at Michael.

Papa walks in. "Aw Sam. You're not putting those shoes on him, are you? He trips in them."

Now it's Michael's turn to smirk at me. But is it really a win Michael? I don’t think he realizes he's agreeing with Papa.

"I can put runners on him, Cas, but he says they're too hot. He'll be whining and complaining the whole way."

"All right. Never mind," Papa says.

I stick my tongue out at Michael when no one is looking as he glowers at me. Score one for Team Daddy and Dean.

~TS~

"Okay, Dean Bean. You've got to hold someone's hand," Daddy says once we get to the Popsicle place, or well, Farmer's Market if you want to be fucking technical. "You want Daddy's, or Michael's?"

"Michael's." Duh.

"All right sweetheart, but you hold on, okay?"

"Dean will, Daddy."

"I won't let go for any reason, Mr. Winchester."

"Who's you gonna hold onto, Daddy?"

"I'm going to hold his hand, Kiddo," Papa says.

"What about Uncle Dally?"

"Somebody's gotta hold onto Pala, Half-pint."

"Where's the posicles, Daddy?" I haven't forgot. It's the only reason I agreed to come to this Hipster convention.

"We'll get you one, right now, baby boy."

This place is packed. Apparently, a lot of fucking people like farmers and vegetables. Daddy explained in the car on the way over, again, that this is the place the farmers come to sell all the vegetables they grew. He said I could pick vegetables if I want, but I don't see the point. I don't like vegetables.

There's a pretty lady standing behind a mini ice-cream-like cart and she looks pretty busy. What if she fucking runs out of popsicles? I'm supposed to get two and I fucking want two damn it. I can't even believe Daddy's giving me a Popsicle in the first place, let alone two, it feels like fucking Christmas. The whole thing seems too good to be true, she's going to be out unless I get there quick.

I tug Michael along. "Hurry up, Michael. We hasta get there faster."

"The Popsicles aren't going to evaporate. Slow down. You're going to trip in those death shoes."

We get in the line up, all of us, even Pala and it seems to take forever, but finally we get to the front. "You do want one, don't you Michael?" Daddy asks.

"I'd better see what all the fuss is about," he says. Daddy smiles amused.

I'm so excited when Daddy hands me the strawberry Popsicle. I'm holding Tigger in my other hand, so he has to pop my soother out for me. When I stuff it in my mouth, it's so, so good. "Thank-you, Daddy," I say between sucks.

"You're welcome Dean Bean. Eat that careful, now."

But I have a problem. I’m supposed to hold someone's hand, except how am I supposed to hold Tigger _and_ the Popsicle? I need more fucking hands.

"Is it okay if Tigger rides in the diaper bag while you eat your Popsicle?" Daddy says, noticing my dilemma.

I have to think about it, I feel bad for stuffing Tigger in that stuffy old place, but I'm not really sure what else to do. "Okay, Daddy. Just for a little bit, okay?"

"Just for a little bit."

Michael takes my Tigger free hand and I enjoy the fuck out of my Popsicle. It's dripping all over the fucking place; down my face, my shirt and the hand holding the Popsicle. Michael's going to have a hay day with this one. He's already watching me closely, clearly upset with this happening.

"He's turning into a Popsicle, Mr. Winchester," Michael complains.

Daddy laughs. "Do we have a little Deansicle?"

I giggle. "Yeah, Daddy. Deansicle."

As we all eat our popsicles and I turn into a Deansicle, we thread through the various vendors. Daddy's got some cloth bags he brought; occasionally we stop to look at vegetables. I can't believe Daddy thought I'd be interested in vegetables. All I’m thinking about is popsicle number two.

"All, done," I say when I've got nothing left, but a stick.

"Okay, sweetheart." We all pull off to the side of the walkway and Daddy crouches his huge body down, setting the diaper bag and his bags of first purchases beside him, so he can begin cleaning me up. Michael watches like an overseer, making sure Daddy doesn't miss any spots and shoos Pala away when she comes to try helping lick me off.

He has to use baby wipes on my hands and face and he has to put a whole new shirt on me. I giggle when he takes my messy shirt off. "Dean's naked, Daddy."

"Just half naked. Do you need your bum changed?"

"No thank-you, Daddy."

When I'm all set, he sends me back over to Michael, who finished his popsicle long ago. Everyone finished theirs before me, I was a little slow. "Is he acceptable, Michael?" Daddy asks.

"I wouldn’t mind giving him a once over, if you have another of those baby wipes?"

Daddy indulges him, while Papa glowers. "Is that really necessary?"

"I can see better than anyone, Mr. Winchester," Michael tells Papa.

"Fine. Just be quick about it."

Michael gives my hands and face a once over; while he's doing that I ask, "we has another one, Daddy?"

"You can't really be serious with the second Popsicle Mr. Winchester," Michael grumps. "Look at the devastation."

"Papa said two!" I double checked after Daddy told me I could have two. If Papa says it, I know it's going to happen for sure, but I'm a little scared Michael can change their minds.

"Don't worry, Dean Bean. We're going to have another one," Daddy says. "On our way out."

I sneer at Michael. He huffs and quickly finishes cleaning me before Papa grouches at him again.

With my hand free again, I get my partner in crime back, _and_ my soother. I tell Tigger all about the popsicle. "Posicle was good Tigger, but isn't for Tiggers. They get too messy and don't wash off like little boys."

Tigger's a bit pissed and I completely understand. He had to sit next to my diapers and they're the clean ones, but still. Tigger likes to be part of the action.

Daddy picks me up when we get to the next farmer. It's a man selling strawberries. "Look Dean. These are fresh picked strawberries. That's what the lady used to make your popsicle."

Oh? Well that was fucking good. I guess strawberries are okay. "And you know what else? Daddy's pretty good at making stuff—what if I were to buy a whole bunch of these and make Dean his very own popsicles?"

My eyes go fucking wider than saucers. "Dean has posicles all the time, Daddy?"

"Well 'till we run out of fresh strawberries."

"Please, Daddy. Dean likes strawberries and posicles."

"I thought you might," he says tickling my belly.

"Who have we got here?" the farmer man says holding out a basket of strawberries. "Would he like to sample my strawberries? Test them for quality?"

I look to Daddy to see if it's all right. "Go ahead sweetheart. See if they're good popsicle making strawberries."

I pluck one out of the basket and make sure to use my nice manners. "Thank-you. Youse a farmer?" I ask before I take a juicy bite. I think I'm going to be a little messy again.

"I am. Picked some of these myself."

"You picked'em?" Daddy and I do stuff like that in our garden we started.

"Yep. Anytime you like, you can c'mon by the farm and pick some too." He winks and gives Daddy one of his cards.

Daddy buys a whole shawhack load of strawberries and everyone ('cept me) has to carry a bag over their shoulder. We stop at some other places and Daddy introduces me to the other farmers. Daddy's bags look like they're getting heavier and heavier. He and Papa can't even hold hands anymore.

But just when I think we can't possibly find anymore stuff for Daddy to stick in those bags, we find a vendor selling pickled stuffs, and Daddy freaks. "Oh wow! Pickled beets, carrots…and _beans_! I've got to see if they're like Mama's recipe." He talks to the lady for what seems like forever and buys _so_ many jars of pickled items.

"Okay, Sam. I think we have enough here. The bags are getting heavy and the baby looks like he's ready to nod off."

"Okay Cassy, but, can we just stop at the cheese stand on the way out? I hear they have cheesecloth cheddar, grass fed. It would be so great on Dean burgers."

Papa can't resist indulging Daddy when we're here. This is like Daddy's candy store.

I've got Tigger squished against me under one arm and I'm sucking my soother. My feet seem so heavy all of a sudden though. I do end up tripping like Papa and Michael said I would, but I'm holding tight to Michael's hand and he's able to save me going plummeting to the ground. "We're losing him Mr. Winchester."

Daddy takes a look at me. "Poor tired, Dean Bean. I knew I should have brought the stroller."

"Is not tired, Daddy," I tell him, pissed. Just because I'm exhausted from all this walking, doesn't mean I need a nap.

"Come, little Duck. I'll carry you."

"No, way." I want to walk. And besides, "we has another posicle now Daddy?"

I've been waiting so patiently. Daddy looks at Papa.

"Okay, let's get you your second popsicle, Kiddo. But we'll sit this time on the grass over by the food trucks," Papa decides.

When we see the popsicle lady again, she remembers me. "Hey there cutie. You back for more?"

"Papa says, two," I tell her.

"Wow! Two? What a lucky boy."

I get to have a new kind this time made with mangos. I make sure to tell her thank-you.

This time Tigger gets to sit with me. There are picnic benches we sit on and Daddy takes my shirt off, so I don't get popsicle on this shirt too. "Was that fun Dean Bean?"

"Was fun, Daddy. Dean likes posicles."

Everyone laughs at me, except Michael, but he does crack a smile.

"Somehow, I don't think y'all have got the same reasons comin' here, Sammy," Uncle Dal says.

"I'm sure he'll like it one day," Daddy says.

"Yeah, but for now, he thinks it's the Popsicle place," Papa says amused.

What's wrong with that?

When I'm all done, Daddy doesn't bother cleaning me up and just hands the wipes to Michael, knowing he'll just have to let him have a turn anyway.

I don't argue when Papa picks me up off the picnic bench, and instead curl into him. I'm exhausted from all the walking. My head drops onto his shoulder and I let the cadence of his steps rock me as my eyes close. Dean's…out.


	2. Episode II: The Great Halloween Costume Dean Winchester (1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey All! 
> 
> This was supposed to be for Halloween, but now it's an All Saints Day Special! 
> 
> It ended up waaaay longer than expected. There are 2 chapters. 
> 
> WARNINGS: This is not 100% fluffy cutesy, though there is fluff. I want to use these TS's to fill in the gaps towards WW, so while this is a Halloween (All Saints Day Special) it's also another story about the lives of these fine gentlemen. So if you're not a WW reader, this may be on the fence for you. New tags have been added. 
> 
> These are non-linear TS's even though it just so happens the events in these two chapters happen after Dean at the Farmer's market 
> 
> The bolded parts are direct lines from LW -- yep she doesn't just to pictos! She's multi-talented. It was her idea to do Star Wars and she shot me a few lines from her head. Since I didn't just use them as **inspiration** , but used them **exactly** , I made sure to bold them so you'd know they were hers ;-)
> 
> I REALLY enjoyed writing it, just as much as I did that last chapter of GUW though and Papa Says. Lots of Cas moments in here. Anyway, hope you like it!
> 
>  
> 
> TIMELINE: Between Growing Up Winchester and Winchester Way 
> 
> Dean is "eight." 
> 
> After Michael's most recent spiking from his father (Lucifer) so Michael is "eleven."

"A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away."

"Dean! _Dean!_ "

"It is a period of civil war. Rebel Spaceships, striking from a hidden base, have won their first victory against the evil Galactic Empire."

"Dean Daniel!"

Shit. He's at two names. "Yeah Daddy?"

"I'm not calling you again, Sur. Get your butt down here for lunch!"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm coming!" I call back down to him. Ugh. How annoying. I don't even want to eat lunch right now. Yeah, that's right, you heard it, Dean Winchester is too busy to eat lunch. I'm too freaking excited. There's only one week 'till Halloween and I'm working on my costume. I had a little help from Gramma Winchester, but I did a lot myself. The other exciting thing about this Halloween, Papa's actually said I can go trick-or-treating with _just_ Michael. That's right, all by myself. Or close to. Papa and Daddy are going to play chauffer all night for us, but while we're actually going door-to-door, it's sans the parents. Then, we're going to this Halloween party one of the kids from my hockey team's having. Papa said I could stay out 'till ten o'clock!

I put down my costume and head to the kitchen where Daddy's waiting with a displeased look on his face and I get two, well aimed swats to my ass as I walk by. It's enough I have to rub the sting out. "Ow, Daddy."

"Would you act like that for Papa?" he inquires, taking his seat in front of the soup and sandwiches he made for us as I take mine.

Would I act like that for Papa? No way, Jose. But I tend to feel off kilter when he's away and end up being a craphead for Daddy who's got that hurt look about him and I feel bad now. "No, sir. Sorry Daddy, I'm just really excited," I say with big Dean eyes. Daddy always says he'll never know how I managed to stay cute enough to weasel out of trouble even at eight, but I did. "I wanted to finish the piece of my costume I was working on, so I can show Michael when he gets here."

That softens him some. I get a small smile. "I know you're excited sweetheart, but you can still be polite to Daddy."

We mow down and as usual, Pala wanders over to sit below me, the person she's most likely to get scraps from, but it's not looking good for her today, Daddy made Deanwiches and disassembling them is a crime.

"Papa's been gone a long time this time," I say.

"I know sweetheart, but he'll be home Monday. We'll call him tonight and you can show him your costume progress."

"No! I mean, I want to surprise him when it's all done. I want him to be proud of me."

"He will be no matter what, sweetheart. He always is."

"That's not true. He wasn't proud of the way I acted in church two Sundays ago."

Daddy laughs at me. "You were a grouchy one that day. But I'm not talking about times like that."

"I still want to surprise him – you didn't tell him about Pala being Chewbacca, did you?"

He makes like he's zipping his lips, locking them, then throwing away the key. "I told you I wouldn't tell him anything cheese doodle."

GUW

After Dean's had the chance to talk with his Papa, I send him off to bed, tuck him in and call Cas back. "I miss you so gosh darn much, Cassy."

"I know Baby. Looks like Dean might too?"

"Of course he does. He only asked you five times when you were coming home." When I picture my not so little anymore boy, with his light, spiky hair and big green eyes looking at the wall, asking his papa when he's gonna be back over and over, my heart clenches.

Warms it at the same time.

"Last I saw him, I was reprimanding him for his attitude in church before I spanked him. How much could he miss me?"

Huh. Dean mentioned that as well, those two sometimes. "You know Cas, you both seem hung up on that Sunday."

"Because of how it was left. It was too soon for me to leave after that, but I didn't want him having a spanking hanging over his head the whole time I was gone, Sam."

"I know, Cassy. All will be well soon as you get home. He can't wait to show you his costume, he's worked so hard on it."

"And how about you, Baby?" His voice gets lower and suggestive.

"I'm…" I can't help blushing. Even after all these years, no matter how many times Cas has put me in Chastity, I still get an embarrassed rush just talking about it. "I'm good, Cassy." It's not a punishment this time, it was something Cas asked me to do before he left and I agreed.

"I love knowing my boy is locked up for me, _god_ Samuel. Thank you."

"Anything for you, sir." We have to be a whole lot more discreet, now that Dean's older, but we still find time to fit in the kinkier side of Cas and I.

"I had plans on a short, over the phone, scene, but why am I sensing you have other things on your mind?

"I'm worried about Michael, Cas. He had to cancel tonight and I just think that's a sign of things to come, I can feel in in my gut. I think he's going to bail on Dean."

"That's going to crush Dean, then I'm going to crush Michael – at least something good will come out of this."

" _Cas._ It wasn't his fault. His father needed him, he doesn't want to bail on Dean."

Cas is silent; I know he's thinking. "Still. If he thinks he can't come, he should tell Dean. He has until I get home to sort this out. Then I'm telling Dean."

SUNDAY

"It's gonna be so awesome Uncle Dal. Just me and Michael and did I mention, we'll be by ourselves?"

My nephew's finally growing some. He's still skinny as a beanpole, but he's getting some height. "You did half-pint. I think that's great. You've earned more responsibility. You deserve it."

I get a beaming smile before he runs out the kitchen to the backyard with his dog and I'm left with Sam, concerned and staring out the door after him. "How's it going with Michael?"

Sammy sighs. "Not good. He fully believes he's going to be able to make Halloween, but I just don't think he will."

"Michael pulls through for Dean when it's important."

"I know, I just worry. Sorry, Dally."

"Don't apologize big brother. It's natural for you to worry. He's still your cub, just a little bigger. You want me to talk with him?"

"And say what? The Halloween you've planned for a month is cancelled?"

"Not quite. I'll think of somethin' though, Sammy. I think he's mature enough to handle it." I think it's my brother that won't be able to handle Dean's disappointment, not Dean.

"Sure Dally, if you don't mind. It might soften the blow when Cas talks to him."

No time like the present. I head out to the yard where Dean's throwing a tennis ball for Pala. That dog's getting on, she must be around twelve now, but she still finds the energy to catch the ball for Dean – most people find the will to do whatever Dean wants. Especially in this family.

"So, do I get to see this killer costume?"

"If Daddy sent you out here to talk to me about Michael, you can save it Uncle Dal."

I give him the once over look, the he's cruising and about to get a spanking look. "Excuse me, Sur. I know we're friends, but it doesn't mean you should talk to me like that."

"Sorry Uncle, Dal. I just don't want you worrying about me too. I know y'all think Michael won't show up, but he will."

"I never said I didn't think he would come, but you should consider the possibility." I put my hand out for the ball and he tosses it to me, I throw it for Pala, she looks at me like I'm stupid.

Dean laughs and runs after the ball. "Here. Here, girl." He throws the ball again and faithfully she runs after the tennis ball. "I mean it Uncle Dal. He'll be there, so don’t worry about me. Okay?"

"We all worry about you, half-pint that's never gonna change."

"I'm getting so big though, Uncle Dal. Can tie my own shoes and everything," he says with a wink we know no one taught him. Not that none of us ever wink and not that winking's uncommon, but it's the _way_ he does it. We (Cas, Sammy and I) believe it's one of the small ways old Dean still shows up every now and again.

"You are big, half pint," I say and ruffle his hair.

"You gotta trust me on this one. He'll come. Besides, I think Michael's super excited to dress up with me."

He almost had me convinced, but there's no way anyone's believing Michael's excited to dress up. My look must say so.

"Oh he acts like he doesn't, but he does Uncle Dal. I _know_ him. Ever since his father shot him up with that recent dose of angel Modlenol, he's a bit different Uncle Dal. He _likes_ some kid stuff. He's a lot more kid like than he lets on."

Can that be true? I could see Michael only letting Dean onto that fact, or more likely he didn't and Dean's read it somehow. The little mite can be quite insightful when he wants to be.

When Pala's rested enough, he throws the ball for her again. God. That dog. It's like Dean hung the moon for her. "Okay half pint, I'm going to take your word for it."

MONDAY

"Papa! You're home!" I run to Papa, not letting him put his suitcase away, not caring if he scolds me for running in the house and wrap my arms around him tight. I don't know why the tears are falling, but they are. "You were gone a long time," I sniffle.

"C'mon now, Kiddo. Hush. Papa's home for awhile now, okay?" He smoothes the long pieces of hair on the top of my hair back (it's still short enough everywhere else to be Papacceptable, so long as I keep it neat) and kisses my forehead. "It's good to see you."

"I'm real sorry about, Church Papa," comes pouring out before I can stop it.

"Dean, you know that's over now. Papa reprimanded you and now we move on, remember?"

"Yeah, I know. But then you were gone and it ate at me."

"Did you talk to Daddy about it?"

"No, sir."

"Next time, talk with Daddy. I'm home now, you'll feel better."

Actually, I do already. Something about Papa makes me feel good. "Daddy was going mental without you. You should have seen him," I say wiping my eyes with the back of my hand.

"Yeah?" he says putting his arm around my shoulders as we walk into the kitchen where Daddy is, leaving Papa's suitcase behind at the door. Papa's still in his long, beige coat.

When my parents set eyes on each other for the first time, in the flesh in two weeks, they stare at one another for an immeasurable amount of time, cataloguing the other, 'till I feel Papa's arm slide away from me and they unite halfway across the kitchen, both moving toward the other until Papa's arms find Daddy and Daddy puts his head in Papa's neck. "Missed you, Cassy."

Daddy's holding _on_ , while Papa's doing the _holding_. I blush, 'cause it feels like I'm watching something private, which is silly, 'cause it's just a hug. Bleh.

"You feeling left out Dean, Bean?"

"Uh, no way. I'm good Daddy," I say putting my hands into the pockets of my jeans.

"So? Do I get to see the costume, yet?" Papa asks.

"What? No. It's not finished yet, Papa."

"I apologize Mr. Winchester, I did not realize it was a closely guarded secret," he says amused, parting from Daddy to remove his coat, then loosening his tie like he does.

"Speaking of which, I just remembered something on my costume I should go take another look at."

"I don't think so, Dean Winchester," Daddy says. "We're going to have dinner, then you're doing homework, _then_ you may work on your costume."

LATER

I hate having to do this, but Dean can't be protected from everything as much as Sam would like that. I knock first. "Who is it?"

"It's your father, open please."

"Ah…yes. Coming, sir. Just, uh, give me a sec?"

He knows I'm not a patient 'waiter,' but since he's likely hiding his costume, I don't hurry him. I hear scrambling for a minute, then he opens the door. "Welcome to the room of Dean Winchester."

" _Dean._ " I give him a slightly displeased look and enter. I can't help taking a look around. There are bits of material and stray threads everywhere, along with all the equipment and other items he needed to make his costume scattered over the room. "This room is ridiculous Dean. Has your daddy seen this?"

"I told him I'd clean it up soon as my costume's finished."

"Excuse me?" That's not the answer I was looking for.

"I'll clean it up tonight, sir."

"Thank you. Now there's something I must discuss with you." I make myself comfortable, perching on the end of his bed.

"Is this about Michael Papa? Uncle Dal already talked to me. I know you guys think he's not going to show up on Halloween, but he is." Dean starts cleaning up his mess as I think about how to approach him. I wasn't expecting him to be so accepting. Have to change my speech.

"Daddy doesn't think he will."

"Daddy's wrong. He'll come. You'll see. 'Sides, he's dressing up with me – he won't let me down."

"This isn't about him wanting to let you down. You know what his father is like, maybe he'll decide Michael can't come out at the last minute." I can't believe I have to speak of the angel in a positive light. _It's for Dean. He must be hiding his true doubts. He's trying to ease our worries._

He stuffs a load of scrap materials into a plastic bag. I didn't even know we had those in this house, Sam usually uses the cloth bags when they shop. Maybe Mother took Dean to get the materials for his costume. "He promised me, Papa," he says with serious green eyes. They look so big on his face. I thought they were big and cute when he was little, but they're even bigger now, full of young-boy faith and I just can't handle it. If that angel lets my boy down, he won't set one holy toe past my threshold for the foreseeable future.

I must look angry. Dean looks concerned. "Am I in trouble, Papa?"

"No."

"Then why does it look like I am?"

I try to relax my features, but I don't think I'm doing a very good job. "I'm sorry, Kiddo. Papa worries."

"And Daddy and Uncle Dal," he says hopping on the bed and climbing into my lap. He's still able to fit, but just. He may not have Sam's genes, but I think he'll be tall like Sam, maybe even taller than Old Dean. "But I'm telling you Papa, this time, you don't have to worry. He'll _be_ there. I know. Can't you trust me Papa?"

He squeezes me around the torso and looks up at me with those damn big eyes. I put my arms around him and pull him to me. "I do trust you, Angel. This isn't about me trusting you, it's about me trusting _him_ and I don't."

"Oh yeah? If you don't, then why did you say yes to him and I going trick-or-treating on our own in the first place? I know you wouldn't have let a friend my age and me go without a parent. You trust Michael to take care of me at least a little."

 _Outwitted by my eight-year-old._ "Well debated, Mr. Winchester. Okay. I will hold faith in your good opinion, but don't expect me not to worry just a little bit."

"That's not having faith. Do you only a little bit believe in Jesus? You believe in something, or you don't."

"You drive a hard bargain. All right, _I_ won't worry, but there's no way I can stop Daddy."

He looks at me disbelieving. "But everyone does what you say Papa, especially Daddy. He won't worry if you tell him not to."

"It doesn't quite work like that I'm afraid. I can make attempts to pacify him, which yes, often works, but I can't tell him how to feel, nor can I stop him feeling any particular way."

"Oh. Well tell him how good I reasoned with you. That might shock him into forgetting about Michael not showing up. Besides, Gramma Winchester made him a costume too. He won't let her hard work go to waste. I think Michael secretly likes Gramma Winchester."

"He does?" All of this news is shocking to me. I go away for two weeks and I feel like I've missed everything even though I called home everyday.

"Yep. He ate her peanut butter oatmeal cookies. Michael hates peanut butter. Says it's like eating stale human vomit."

"Dean."

"His words, not mine Papa, I swear. But anyway, he ate them, four of them and lied and said he thought they were good. I ate six, because I freaking love peanut butter. I think Michael's nuts."

I squeeze him again then he hops off the bed. "So you okay, Papa?"

Am _I_ okay? He's supposed to be the one I'm to console. I stand. "Yes, I am okay. How much longer do you need to work on your costume?"

"I'm done for tonight, Papa."

"All right then. Finish cleaning up your room, then come downstairs. How about a couple of games of Yahtzee before bed?"

"Sounds good, Papa," he says continuing to clean up this cyclone hit it.

Wait a minute, what the _hell_ is that? I walk over to Dean's desk and point at the small, but dangerous jar. "Where did you get those?"

"Oh fudge. I mean, Gramma Winchester, sir."

"Gramma Winchester bought you _glitter?_ "

"Yeah."

"Well it's mine now," I say swiping it up and tightening the lid to make sure none of the viral specs are released into the wild. "You know you're not supposed to have these."

"I wasn't going to have them long. It was for a prank…on Michael," he says with waggling eyebrows, knowing that will get my attention. It does.

"Did Gramma know that?"

"Nope. She didn't even ask me what they were for, which was a bit insulting come to think of it. I'm never going to live down that phase where I wore dresses am I? That combined with that sparkle baby photo…I'm hooped."

That makes me smile. Dean was pretty cute in a little dress. It was a short phase, but yeah, don't think he'll live that one down – his daddy had way too much fun with that one. "What were you going to do to Michael?"

"Well, I hadn't worked out all the details yet, but somehow, he was going to end up covered in sparkles. It was to get him back for not being who I wanted him to be for Halloween."

So no plan and likely Dean will be the one besparkled by the end of the night. No. "Well, you'll have to think of something else. These are confiscated indefinitely."

Friday

"Sorry Dean, that was Michael. He had to cancel again Sugar," Daddy says.

Fucking Michael. He was supposed to bring his costume and we were supposed to have out last fitting tonight at Gramma's house (guess we'll just have to go with what we've got) and he fucking bails. And I know, _I know,_ it looks like (to everyone) that this is a sure sign he'll bail tomorrow night too, but he won't. That's my real problem. Keeping the worry about Dean mayhem to a minimum and thanks to Michael I've been doing damage control all fucking week.

I could barely believe it when I convinced _Papa_ to believe me. He's not exactly the easiest to convince, but I managed it. With Michael cancelling for the fourth time this week, it doesn't fucking make him look good, or me. Daddy keeps looking up at me from whatever he's doing, periodically throughout the night like he might have to console my broken heart at any second. Papa's wearing his 'I'm going to kill me an angel' look, permanently now. Uncle Dal 'just pops by' more often than usual and is going with the, 'let's just keep Dean laughing approach.'

Seriously. They're all a bunch a loons, but loons who love me, so I can put up with them. And hey, least it gets me my favorite meal _and_ pumpkin pie.

They all watch me closely and it's a circus of their various 'keep Dean from heartbreak' routines, while I put on an act of my own: not letting their crazy worrying get to me. I love all my family lots, but these are the three people that mean the most to me in the whole wide world – their doubt has me doubting. "May I please have another piece of pie, Daddy?"

"Of course, pumpkin. Let me get you more. You want a bit more ice cream to go with that?"

 _See? It's like he thinks I'm going to die._ "That'd be great Daddy." I said they're crazy, not that I'm stupid. I'm going to milk this.

"Maybe everything's done now. Whatever he had to help his father with, it's finished today and he'll be freed up for tomorrow," Uncle Dal says, trying to remain optimistic for me as per our conversation. _Makes me feel bad about this whole thing._

"Dean said he'll be there, my boy must know what he's talking about to be so sure," Papa says. _Makes my tummy drop into the deep recess of my body._

Daddy clicks his tongue. "I just don't know sweetheart." _Makes me wanna cry._

I push away from the table abandoning my pie. "You don't know. Y'all don't know him like I do. I…I know him," I say practically hyperventilating. I don't know what's gotten into me. They're all staring at me, shocked. I don't know what else to say, or do, so I run off to my room.

I hear a chair sliding from the kitchen behind me then Papa saying, "let him go Sam. Give him a few minutes."

When I reach my room, I throw my stupid costume off the bed and flop down, face first. I reach way back, behind my pillows and pull out Tigger. He doesn't get carted around everywhere with me, like when I was younger, but I keep him around just for such instances. He's old and worn, I've lost track of how many times Gramma Winchester's had to fix him – I kicked the shit out of this thing when I was younger. I don't cry, but stare at Tigger and play with his nose wondering what to do.

What if Michael doesn't show up? I'm going to look so stupid, especially to Papa. I saw that look in his eyes, he was proud of me for the way I reasoned with him. It's all going to be ruined.

Time passes. Eventually Daddy knocks on my door and enters. "Dean…we're sorry."

I'm lying on my back by this point, I glance up at him. "Oh? It's okay Daddy. I'm sorry too." I go back to staring at Tigger.

I feel the bed dip beside me. "No. We're not giving you enough credit. You've been trying to tell us, we're not being good listeners. We're letting our emotions get the best of us and it must be hard for you: Three of us, one Dean 'Chester."

I smile. Daddy said that's what I used to call myself when I was littler; I still like saying it sometimes. "Why is your costume on the floor like that?"

"I threw it there."

"Aw, honey," he sighs. I feel him get up. I look to see him picking up my costume and hanging it over the back of my desk chair. He opens one of my drawers and pulls out a pair of pajamas and fresh underwear for me then comes back over to the bed, pulling me to seated by my arm and starts undressing me by taking off my t-shirt first.

I'm eight and capable of dressing myself, but every now and again, Daddy does it for me and I don't mind.

He helps me into my pajama shirt then pulls me off the bed to help me out of my pants. I hold onto his neck for balance as he crouches his long body to pull each leg off and help me out of my underwear and replace them with the new ones and pajama pants. He throws my dirty clothes into my laundry hamper. "There. Michael said he's going to meet us at the small park on Telegraph Street tomorrow night, so that's where we're going to meet him."

Daddy's trying to make everything right and he would be if this was yesterday, but now I've got doubts (despite my stupid dinner table speech) and him saying that is just more pressure.

"C'mon, sweetheart. Come downstairs and we'll have some tea. It's a bit late for pie now, you can have your second piece tomorrow."

"Okay Daddy," I say apprehensively. "But, is Papa gonna spank me?" That was a pretty explosive outburst and right or wrong, Papa doesn't appreciate that kind of behavior at his table.

"I don't know, Dean. He didn't say he was going to, but you know, maybe you should ask him for one. Might make you feel better."

My cheeks heat. Daddy's said that before, but I think he's crazy. "No way, Daddy. Who would ever want a spanking?"

"Well…me," he admits. "You'd be surprised how helpful they can be. You'll ask one day."

"Nu-uh, no way, no sir." No way am I ever _asking_ for a spanking.

Daddy laughs at me. "Well come on, hot water's probably boiling."

Soon as we're in the kitchen, I start apologizing. "I'm sorry Papa, Uncle Dal." Papa doesn't look like he's got his spanking eyes on, but that can quickly change.

He sighs. "C'mere, kiddo."

I make my way over to him and he pulls me into his lap and start crying. Something about Papa usually makes me instantly start crying. I didn't cry this whole time, even though I wanted to, but now, snuggled against my father, I cry. He just lets me, not saying a word, rubbing my back and holding me. The whole world can fall apart right now for all I care, I know I'm going to be okay so long as Papa's securely fastened to me. "Hush, Angel. We've all been unfair. We promised to believe in Dean, but we're not doing a very good job. Do you know why?"

I shake my head into his chest.

"Because we're afraid. Fear does funny things to people. Can you forgive us?"

"Of course Papa. I'll always forgive you."

"Thank you Dean. But Dean?"

Fuck. His voice just got stern. "Yeah, Papa?"

"I expect you to talk about what's upsetting you even when it's hard. Storming off doesn't solve anything."

"I'm really sorry Papa. It all just built up and I stopped knowing what to say."

"I know, but you can always ask for a few moments to collect yourself. You know we'll give you whatever you need."

"Okay. Papa? Are you…are you going to spank me?"

He sighs again. "I really should."

He doesn't know? Somehow that's worse than a yes or a no. I don't quite know how to explain how I feel, except falling with no one to catch me. Just when I'm having doubts, Papa, like always, fixes that. He stands me up between his knees, using them as a vice to hold me there, pulls down my underwear and pajama pants just enough and lays down ten sharp Papa swats, which are a whole lot more devastating than Daddy swats. They bring fresh tears, a new kind of tears and my ass stings, but it's over quick.

I don't complain like I do when Daddy spanks me. "Sorry, Papa," I say again.

"You're forgiven." He rubs the sting out for me after he's put my clothing back in place. "Go see your uncle Dal."

I go to Uncle Dal and he wraps me in his uncle Dal version of protective. It's a laid back kind of protective. A 'touch my Dean and you'll see a side of me you didn't know existed inside such a calm being' kind of protective. I continue crying into him. He chuckles. "Oh half pint. C'mon now, time to put this behind us."

Daddy puts mugs of tea down in front of us. "Okay," I sniffle.

"We're all just gonna sit back and let the night happen. It's gonna be great and we'll see that we were kicking up a fuss over spilt milk. Your costume all done?"

"Yep," I say wiping away the last of my tears with the back of my hand.

"Well we're all real excited to see it," Uncle Dal says.

"Some of us have never seen it," Papa points out, pretending to be hurt.

"You'll see it soon enough," I say smiling brightly at him. He's going to think I'm the best son ever.

Daddy sits down. "Well I've seen it and I can safely say, our boy's sewing skills are a lot better than mine and that alone deserves a cheers. Here, here," he says lifting his tea mug 'till I lift mine then he clinks it. Everyone else does the same.

HALLOWEEN NIGHT

Pala and I come out of my room and downstairs to do the big unveiling for Papa. His eyes pop wide and right away I _know_ he's impressed. "Wow. Dean. You made that?"

"Well, Gramma Winchester did the hard parts, but I did a lot of it, yeah."

"I say, well I say that's the best Han Solo costume anyone's ever made. Good show Dean," Grampa says. I beam.

"Oh hush, doll. I barely did anything at all this time, that boy's a natural. I wish he'd let me buy him a sewing machine."

"Whoa, Gramma. Um, I mean, I think I like using yours better." I'm sure no one believes that, but they appreciate I'm trying not to hurt Gramma's feelings. She smiles.

"He made Pala, er I mean, Chewbacca's belt on all his own though, Papa," Daddy points out.

"Yes. I can see that. Dean, you've done a very good job. I can see how much hard work you've put into this, words cannot express the pride I feel. Outstanding son, truly outstanding."

I can't help it. I stare up at Papa with idolizing bewilderment, my whole body's flush with shy embarrassment, but it's a good kind. I knew I was going to impress him, but I can't believe how much I just did. I must be fucking awesome. I want him to always look at me like that and not how he did when I was misbehaving in church a couple Sundays ago. I think I've just erased that, for me.

"Thank you, Father."

I get his cool nod of approval. I think this is the best moment of my life.

"Okay, picture time," Daddy says coming in with his camera.

"Can I get in there first, Sammy?" Uncle Dal asks. "I'm supposed to meet up with Axl. He's roped me into some Halloween party."

I laugh as we pose for a picture together. "What you dressing up as Uncle Dal?"

"Never you mind, Sur. Just have fun tonight with Michael."

I'm still laughing though. Uncle Dal hates dressing up. He didn't mind it when I was younger and we'd play games together, but he's just not into doing it for adult stuff. Besides, it's likely R-rated knowing Axl. How he ever gets Uncle Dallas to agree to things he doesn't want to do…well that's a skill I wish I had.

Gramma and Grampa are next. Grampa's still beaming at me like I'm Jesus come to life. "My, you are talented Dean. A fine Winchester you are, still the best one of us, far as I'm concerned."

"Clyde," Gramma scolds him, but I think only because she knows she's supposed to and that you're not _supposed_ to have a favorite grandchild. Auntie Clarabelle has a son now, Clarence who's two. Poor kid's always getting compared to me.

I secretly know I'm Gramma Winchester's favorite too.

When they leave, I grab up my pillowcase. It's not one of Daddy's nice ones (though I don't think we truly have 'not-nice' ones) that I begged him to let me use instead of one of those stupid tiny, plastic jack-o-lantern things. All the big kids use pillowcases – that way, we can get more candy: It's simple math. Math my daddy can do, which is why he didn't want me having a pillowcase. "You're not keeping all of it, Sur," he told me. Yeah, yeah. I just want to _get_ it.

"Okay, I'm ready. Let's hit the road."

GUW

We take Daddy's old car, the one Papa gave him that he can't seem to part with. I can't believe it still works. Uncle Jensen takes a look at it whenever he stops in, apparently to catch whatever the mechanic's missed.

I'm in the back with Pala, who keeps licking my face. I'm glad I didn't pick a costume with makeup.

Daddy drives with Papa riding shotgun. Soon as he parks, I get out and look down to the corner and see what must be Michael talking on his cell phone. I knew it, I knew he'd come! He's far away (this was the only place we could find parking for Daddy's long car) but I know it's him.

I can't see his face, but I see his body frame, dressed in robes. He's Uncle Owen Lars. I wanted him to be Princess Leia, but he refused. I don't see what the big deal is. It's Halloween. I mean, I'm not about to wear a dress to school, it's just not me despite what I did when I was five, but well, I really wanted Michael to do it _for me_ for some reason. I was crushed when he didn't, but didn't let on at all.

When I tried to tell him how uncool it was to be Uncle Owen, he argued that **Luke's uncle raised a child that was not his own, was a business-owner, and a stern rule-enforcer in Luke's life. He was a great man and his and his wife's untimely deaths were tragedies.**

I also tried to tell him that he'll just get mistaken for Obi-Wan all night to which he replied, "I'll explain that **I am Owen Lars, who was burnt alive after rightfully denying his nephew a frivolous jaunt to the Toji Station to check out Power Converters,** any real fan will get it and anyone else doesn't matter."

There was clearly no reasoning with him, he's such a dork sometimes, so I left it, but I was disappointed. I needed a Leia to go with my Han Solo.

"He's there, see? He's there, Papa, just like I said he would be! Didn't I say he would be?"

"You did Dean Bean," Daddy says getting out of the car and stopping before me to adjust my vest and brush off the 'dirt' I'm sure isn't there.

"Yes you did Dean," Papa adds. "Once again, you've done good son. Shall we go over there then?"

I look over. None of the other kids my age are walking with parents. They're in groups with just kids. I'm not embarrassed of my parents at all. Hell. Most of the time I _let_ them do things (like hug me) that other kids tell their parents to stuff it over (not that I'm stupid enough to tell either of my parents to stuff it, I'm just saying) because I don't mind them babying me a bit I, well it's kind of nice. But they're always so worried about me and I want to show them that maybe they don't have to be. That I can do things. I really want to do this on my own.

"Papa, please. You said I could do this on my own. Michael's right _there_ , you two are right _here_ watching me the whole way _there_." I pull out all the stops giving him the eyes (even if they never seem to work on Papa). "Failing that, I've got my fierce guard dog to protect me." Pala sits at attention and barks the affirmative, reporting for duty.

"That dog would show the burglars the way in for a slice of ham."

I'm holding my breath. He hasn't said no yet and I know well enough by now that when Papa says 'no' it's 'no,' and there's no arguing with it. He looks over at Daddy and they have one of their wordless conversations. Papa nods at him. That's a good sign.

"Okay, Dean Bean. You've proven yourself over and over this week. Daddy and Papa need to let go a little bit," Daddy says. "But there are rules young man. No eating any candy until one of us has checked it."

"Yes, Daddy."

"And back here in two hours. There's still a Halloween bash to attend. You don't want to miss that do you? Didn't you say there might be a costume contest?"

I don't really know if there is. I was just letting my imagination run wild. "Maybe and nope, don't wanna miss it. I'll be back here in two hours. Promise." We synchronize watches.

"Okay. Go'on Kiddo. Have fun."

"I will, Papa! Thank you!" I hug them both.

I run to Michael, stupidly excited, but I skid to a halt and my stomach drops when I see it's not Michael. _Michael's not here._ The jerk didn't come. Everyone was right and I'm the only idiot who couldn't see the truth. Michael's a moddler sized asshole.

To Be Continued…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be afraid to ask Mock for other scenes from TW series. So long as it works with the Series and the characters, I'll write'em, eventually...
> 
> P.S. Axl convinced Dallas to go to the Rocky Horror Picture Show dressed in Drag.


	3. Episode II: The Great Halloween Costume Dean Winchester (2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's over 8K. Mock's been busy! Hope you like the conclusion to this Halloween night. It kept going and going! I thought it would never end.

We watch Dean meet with Michael. Cas has to hold onto me. Tight. He's leaned back against the car and I'm leaning with my back against him, his smaller body feeling larger than life to me like always, his hands threaded around my torso. No. Not threaded, locked. They're locked there so I don't go running after Dean. I know I'm the one who said the words to him, that he could go, but it's still hard for me. I still baby him to death. He's not often without me, except for school and even that was a ridiculous affair for the first year – not just for me, for Dean too. I was really close to home schooling him, but Cas ruled that he would go to school often as he could. We've kept him out some years, when they wouldn't approve his age to the next and during those times, I make him do school work, so he's still current.

"He's okay," Cas says in my ear. But I don't think so. I'm watching the whole interaction and there are just so many things _wrong_ with it. I mean, none of it seems bad, but none of it's _right_ either.

They're a ways in the distance, so all I can really make out is Dean's form (he looks so small from here) and the one of Michael. I can just make out that he's wearing some kind of white or cream colored get up. My brain fills in the rest, because it was me taking Dean over to Gramma's for fittings and sewing date, which Michael would have to attend as well, so I saw his costume then. But I can't really see it. Heck, Michael could have changed his costume and be dressed as Princess Leia like Dean wanted and I wouldn’t be able to tell from here. How do I know that's really Michael?

Dean skids to a halt, Pala beside him, my stomach flips. He never does that. No matter how mad those two are at each other, I've never seen those two not greet each other, at least in some way. Usually, it's like they've been separated for years instead of days, but they're not doing any of that now. Michael sees Dean, finally (also wrong, Michael has a sixth sense for Dean) as he gets off of what must be his cellphone. Dean starts talking to him, but it doesn't _look_ right. Something else is wrong too, something with Pala, but I can't place it because I'm too wound up right now.

Then Dean points to us. Is he smiling? I can't see. I really should go over there and check. As 'Michael' waves at us, I'm trying to pry myself out of Cas's iron grip. I can't. My husband is freakishly strong and if I didn't know better, I'd think he was a Michael. An angel.

Locking me to him with just one arm now, he picks up my hand. "Wave at your son, Baby," he says 'waving' my hand and nibbling at my neck simultaneously.

I take back the control of my arm and wave at them, Dean's waving too. Michael starts walking ahead of them, Dean trails behind, a bit hesitantly if you ask me and Pala…Pala's stopped cold for a second before she joins them. _This isn't right._ "I dunno, Cassy. Something's wrong."

"C'mon Sam. You're being a helicopter parent and I'm just as guilty. We can't keep worrying over nothing like we did all week, look what it did to Dean. Dean would have come back if it wasn't Michael. We said he could go. We leave it. My stomach's in knots too, but we've got to let go sometime."

"Yeah, I know, but Cas—"

Cas flips me around to face him. "But nothing. How about I distract you, Baby? I'm very, very good at it," he says sucking and nibbling his way down the sensitive part of my neck to my clavicle. "Use this old beast for what we used to use her for, huh?"

He pulls me into a long kiss. "Hey. The love of my life got this 'old beast' for me," I scold.

He laughs. "That was the night we got together."

"Yeah, after I knocked sense into you, literally."

"Well, c'mon – lemme knock some sense into you, baby, in the backseat…"

GUW

It's not Michael, I've skidded to a halt and Daddy's going to figure this out in about five seconds. I've got to think of something fast. Because they _can't_ find out. That look of pride on Papa's face…he'll be so disappointed and I can't bear that. I can't let them find out, I can't, I just can't. I have an idea.

Thankfully, this kid is about Michael's height. He gets off his cellphone and looks down at me like I'm a pile of crap. He's not Michael's 'age' (which is about eleven now that he's been re-modified by his father). I think this kid is a teenager, a short one. He's got five-o'clock-shadow for Pete sake, what the fuck is he doing out trick-or-treating? _This is for kids asshole._

"Hey kid," I say attempting to 'speak teen' (Michael was a teen for a bit and I did meet some of his 'friends') "I need a favor." I don't really know what the fuck I'm doing though. I just let it come to me.

He glares down at me with dull brown eyes sharpened by his definitive brow. His face is sallow, his cheeks too white. He clearly spends too much time inside playing video games. He's not a 'nerd' though, he's one of those stoner guys Michael's warned be about. They deal drugs, like weed, while they smoke weed and play video games. Michael's told me I'm not allowed to hang out with guys like these, and I'm sure that's something my parents would agree with him on, but I'm not really hanging out, it's just a one night deal. "Why should I do you a favor?"

"Because if you don't, I'll sick her after you. She bites."

Pala's not helping me much. She _likes_ Michael a helluva lot more than Michael likes her. She usually gets stupidly excited (like me) whenever she sees him. Now, she's just sticking close to me, giving this dude the stink-eye, growling just under her breath. Daddy's going to notice if I don't get this moving fast. He'll come over here.

He laughs. "That dog?"

People underestimate Pala, but there's little time to convince him of that now. "Fine. I'll give you candy from the first five houses, if you let me come with you."

"Five? No. I want all of it, or no deal."

I can feel I'm running out of time, this kid's my only option right now. "Fuck. Fine. Wave at them," I say and point.

He waves and I do too. Daddy and Papa wave back. "C'mon, this way," he says walking away. "I'm meeting with some other kids down the street a ways, but we can get started on houses."

Just by the way he talks, I know this guy is a dick.

I follow after him, but Pala doesn't. Fuck. "C'mon girl," thankfully that spurs her. We follow douche bag.

I can't fucking believe Michael never showed. Wait 'till I see that guy. Least he could have done is let me know. I mean, how hard is it to send a text?

"What's your name?" I ask and I have to walk pretty fast to keep up with him. I'm shorter than him, man, someday I hope I grow tall as Daddy.

"I don't remember talking being part of our deal."

"I'm Dean," I say anyway. I'm trying to salvage what's left of this night, maybe I can get the kid to warm up to me.

"It's Mike," he grunts.

Mike? As in Michael? For real? Least when I tell my parents about trick-or-treating with 'Michael' later, it'll be true. And that's where I'm ending this night. I'm not going to bother going to the party. Screw it. I wanted to go with Michael. He's my friend. My best friend – at least he was. Now that he's not coming there's not much point in any of this.

Pala and I follow him to ten houses, he doesn't talk to us and we don't talk to him. Pala doesn't like this guy and for the record, neither do I, but all that matters is that Daddy and Papa think I'm trick-or-treating with Michael. I'll stick with this guy for a few blocks, then I'll head back. This is my first time out alone and it seems too dark and scary to _really_ be alone. This guy's better than no one.

I still remember bits (fewer and fewer) of my old life, enough to know I had one and even if I didn't, Daddy and Papa remind me. They think it's important I know I had a life before and what the strange memories I have sometimes are all about. Daddy told me that when I was littler and used to have old Dean memories, they'd scare me and that I was too little to really understand what they were, which is why they've done their best to explain some of it to me as I aged. The odd time I do have a memory (one that's usually very hazy) I at least know what going on, even if I still don't understand completely.

I know enough to know old Dean would never have been scared of the dark, Halloween night – he was some kind of super hero. I'm not usually _that_ afraid of the dark, but right now, outside… Not to mention, Halloween _is_ a creepy feeling night. Makes me wonder if all the stuff Michael says about Halloween is true with the spirits coming out and all.

We're a long ways from Daddy and Papa and when 'Mike' veers off, away from the houses. "Hey, where you going?"

"I told you. I have friends we're meeting up with. Don't worry, we'll go to more houses, I want you to fill that sack nice and full for me."

Okay that sounds all kinds of wrong. "Fine, whatever. Can we just hurry it up? My parents are waiting for me."

"Of course they are, 'cause you're a little baby."

"I'm eight, dude."

"So? When I was eight, I did whatever I wanted."

Yeah and I can see you turned out real good. "Let's just meet your friends, so we can get back to the street."

The alleyway I follow him to, is dark and Pala doesn't like it. She barks at me. "I know girl," I say to her quietly. "Just a minute, okay? We're going right back." I don't like this either.

She won't listen though and keeps barking. "If you don't shut that dog up, I will." Mike says.

I don't know what he'll do to Pala, but I don't want to find out. "Shut up, Pala!" I shout at her. I don't yell at her often, so it works and I feel bad. I'm the one doing something stupid, she's just looking out for me.

We meet up with three other boys and one girl who all look around Mike's age, or older. "Who's the kid?" one of them says pulling out a pack of cigarettes and tapping them before opening the new package.

"No one. Just some kid who's going to give me his candy at the end of the night."

I was trying to forget that little fact. Doesn't matter anyway. If he doesn't take it, Daddy will. Still, I would have gotten a little. Maybe I'll have a piece now before either of them get to it. And I know, I know, I'm supposed to wait 'till Daddy's checked it for razorblades, but I'm sure I can figure that out. "Hey! What do you think you're doing? That's mine kid. Give it here." Mike snatches the pillowcase out of my hands and yep, it's stealing candy from a baby.

The guy with the cigarettes must feel a little sorry for me. "Here kid, have a cigarette."

"Ugh, yuck. I'll save myself the lung cancer thanks."

"Suit yourself."

"I say we ditch the kid, Mikey," the girl speaks up. "He is kinda cute, but he's gonna cramp our style. He's a bit young."

"What's the harm in him tagging along with us?" cigarette guy says. I can't believe he's the nice one.

"Yeah, I was getting sick of him anyway. He talks too much."

Jesus Christ. I asked him his name.

"Sorry kid, looks like you're out. Have a good night." That's cigarette guy. Least he said bye. Even Mike just walked off (with my pillow sack of candy) and no word. They all walk off in fact, leaving me alone in the dark alley with just a little moon shining in and I don't know what the fuck to do, so I sit down and hope no murderers come to get me…or worse…and cry into my knees. Pala whines beside me nudging at me with her snout every once in a while.

Then, I hear something, which scares me out of my misery. I look up, Pala starts barking, someone's approaching us and it looks like it's just a kid…a girl. Pala's way too excited. She jumps all around and runs to the kid who tried to start running to us, but because of the long white dress they're wearing, it's hard for them. They end up having to walk. _It's like she's never worn a dress before._

My eyes bulge when I see who it is. "Duck?" Michael says. Pala's jumping all around him excited and following after him as he closes the distance between us, complaining at Pala for jumping up at him. When I know it _has_ to be him, even though it doesn't _look_ like him, I jump up and meet him half-way, wrapping my arms around him and cry into white. "I looked everywhere for you my Duck – this night has been a disaster," he says.

"You're telling me," I sniffle.

I step away from him, remembering I'm pissed at him, but all I can do is stare at him mesmerized for a new reason: Michael's not Michael, nor is he Uncle Owen Lars…he's _Princess Leia_.

_And he looks really good dressed like a girl._

He's not even wearing a wig, he must have asked an angel to grow his hair for him and he's got it wrapped in Princess Leia buns. He's definitely wearing make-up, bright red lips and fake eyelashes. But not even all that, combined with the long, white, Alderaan Gown, makes him look like a chick. _A bit feminine yes, but not a girl._ He's a boy in a dress. He's beautiful and my heart beats faster, pounding like thunder.

When I was six, I had a crush on this girl, Emma Hammond. Not only did I want to follow her around everywhere, but I wanted to touch her – pet her hair, kiss her cheek, hold her hand; least that's what Daddy said. I'd chase her around school at recess and smile shyly at her, that I remember.

But I've never quite felt this way about Michael.

I've always looked up to him. At times I've wanted to be like him. I'm protective of him and he's protective of me. In all my memories, he's always been there, which I _know_ can't be true, because I've been told I didn't know him in my other life, but it just feels like I've always known him. Michael's always amazed me. I love him. I adore him; he's everything. But I've never wanted to kiss him, like a real kiss I mean. Not a little kid kiss like I've done before. Nope. Never wanted to for real kiss him.

I do now.

I want to plant a kiss on his lips and take his hand and squeeze it.

I blink up at him, as Pala continues to vie for Michael's attention. "Stop it you mangy mutt – you're going to get paw prints all over my outfit, then what?" He stomps at her with his foot covered in white boot.

I laugh at him then I remember again (I keep forgetting) I'm supposed to be mad at him. It's a bit funny being "the same age" as him, or close to anyway, looks-wise. He looks about eleven now, or I guess _again_. His features are softer than when he was "seventeen," and just before his father jacked him up with Modlenol again. Something I know he's still not over, but he never talks about it, not really, just once in a while in snarky Michael snippets.

When he's closer, the moonlight hits a new part of his face and I see something there I don't like. "Are you…are you hurt?" There's a nasty line down his cheek it looks like he tried to cover up with make up.

"Nasty run in with a pile of demons."

Fuck I hate that. Hearing that sometimes makes me wish I was old Dean. I know old Dean killed demons. He'd never let demons hurt Michael. Or, well I guess I don't really know what old Dean would have thought of Michael – it's complicated, but I know if _I_ had old Dean's skills, _I'd_ never let them hurt Michael. "He still sends you on runs? Fuck. You're just a kid now, Michael."

"Enough of that. I do whatever my father tells me. End of story. You know that. What's going on here? Where were you?" 

He wants to do this? Fine, let's do this. "Where was I? Where were you? You didn't fucking show up when you said you would."

"Yes. For that I am sorry. Fucking Tom. Instead of dropping me off like he was supposed to, he made a stop first for Father and didn't tell me before we fucking left."

"So? Send a god damned text." I may not have a phone, but Michael does. He could have texted Daddy.

"Does this ridiculous get-up look like it has pockets? I even tried to stuff it in my boot, but it annoyingly kept falling to the bottom. I've decided this is how purses were invented. And no, I'm not carrying a purse, I think the dress is far enough for me thank you."

"Borrow Tom's phone." I'm not letting him off the hook.

"Can you call off your dog, so I can explain properly?"

I sigh. "Off, Pala. Come here. Sit. Good, Chewy." She sits beside me and I crouch to let her lick my face.

"Ew. Anyway, Tom stopped the car and was out of it before I could do anything about it. I wasn't exactly about to go inside with him and reveal myself to the persons I figured Tom had to meet with dressed like this. I waited 'till I realized he was going to be forever and I snuck out of the car and walked here – we weren't too far away, but it did make me late. I do apologize for not being able to notify you. You couldn't wait for me fifteen fucking minutes?"

I don't want to fucking explain it all to him, yet. "Did Papa, or Daddy see you?"

"I saw the car thank you for reminding me and I've yet to bleach my eyes due to what I saw. Your horny parents were having sex again."

"Ew! Michael! So didn't need to know that!"

"If I had to suffer it, then so do you."

"Believe me I have. The dangers of not knocking in the Winchester house."

"Anyway, it was apparent you weren't with them and no way was I interrupting that, so I left to find you myself. Okay, your turn. What the hell happened?"

I have to go into the big explanation about what everyone thought and how I've had to do damage control. I tell him about 'Mike' and why I went with him, also about the gang and the stolen candy. I hope Michael pops him one with his white princess boots. As I get through the story, Michael's pretty face goes from angry to murderous. "I'm going to rip all of their lungs out. No, scratch that, I'll start with their colon and work my way up to their lungs."

In hindsight, I should have expected that, he might just do it. "Look Michael, all I've wanted to do all night is trick-or-treat with you. Can we please just do that? We've got to meet back with my parents soon."

"Okay, my duck, let's go, but if I see them I make no promises not to retaliate in kind."

Hopefully they're long gone by then. "Crap. Wait. That dick took my pillowcase, I've got nothing to put candy in."

"Here. Use mine. I only brought it to fill as a second _secret_ sack for you, one that you could somehow hide from Daddy Winchester, anyway. I can't stomach that sugary poison. I feel like it's shriveling my vessel's tongue."

We head back out to the street and carry on trick-or-treating making it through a bunch of houses in record time. It's hard not to laugh when Michael gets several rounds of "well isn't that darling! Your big sister taking you trick-or-treating like that." And "what a pretty costume little girl. You two make the little perfect Hans and Leia couple."

I end up with a ton of candy though, that of course I dig into on the way, before Daddy confiscates my loot. Michael scowls at me with his pretty Princess Leia face. "Someone could have laced those with poison, are you stupid? You're supposed to have an adult check them."

Michael does that sometimes now, not always, just sometimes – refers to adults like a kid would. There's also other little things he does that make him seem more kid-like. It was worse when he was first modified, he's sort of 'grown out of' some of it now, but there are things like that leftover. He's still Michael though. He's very much Michael. "Nope. Just a kid wanting a sugar high," I say but it comes out all garbled because my mouth is stuffed with candy.

He growls at me. "Your face is all full of chocolate now."

We're in a park at the end of the block taking a break. I swipe my mouth across my costume. "There, gone." He knows, I know he hates that.

"Good. Now there's evidence of your crime. What's Daddy Winchester going to say when he sees chocolate all over your costume? You'll have to admit you ate candy without him checking first. I'm going to enjoy watching him spank you."

Crap. He's probably right. I did not think that one through. I don't have much time to think on the spanking I'm likely to get; Mike and his cronies come into view. Now I have real problems. "Well look who it is, _Dean_ , is that your girlfriend?"

"Take a hike douchebag. You got what you wanted from me. Leave, or my 'girlfriend' is going to rip your lungs out and I won't be able to stop her."

Even cigarette boy laughs. "This kid's got spunk, maybe we cut him loose too soon, uh?"

"Beat it kid. We're here now. This is our park."

"C'mon Michael, let's just go." I'm not taking all five teenagers on. Michael probably can, but he won't stop and dead kids (even if they're douchebags) on Halloween is just not my kind of night.

Michael's not moving though. "Give him back his candy."

"Wait, you're a dude?" one of the others says.

"I'm about to become your worst nightmare if you don't give him back his candy. You'll wish you were on Elm Street."

Oh god. He means it. "Michael, please…" he's not paying attention to me though.

"Don't worry about us kid, we can handle ourselves. Run along and we'll let you go. But not her, we're going to kick the crap out of _her._ "

Yeah I get it. You're being sarcastic about the 'her.' Dumbass. "No way, I'm not leaving. Just don't say I didn't warn you when you're eating grass."

Michael can't wait anymore, he goes angel on them and has Mike, pinned to a tree too fast. Even these kids know he can't be a regular human boy and if that weren't enough, Michael lets the little grace he has, shine in his eyes. "Give him back his candy. Now."

"Uh…uh…yeah, here. Take mine too."

"No. He doesn't need the extra. I'm going to let you go. You're going to give him back his candy, just his, then the five of you are going to get out of here and if I ever see any of you ever again, I will kill you."

Michael lets him go and he does exactly that, dropping my previous sack and running out of the park, his friends with him. Soon as they're gone Michael keels half-way over. I run to help him. "Michael! Michael! You okay?"

"I'm…fine Duck. Just haven't slept…in awhile. That took a lot of power and I don't have much."

"Jeez Michael. You shouldn't have done that."

"They're bullies and they made the unfortunate mistake of bullying you. You're the only reason I let them live. Don't make me regret my decision."

"Fine. Let's head back. This has been the craziest Halloween ever."

"Did you have fun at least?"

I look over Michael dressed as Princess Leia as he rights himself. _He sure is beautiful._ I give him a goofy smile, I can't believe he did this for me. "Yeah. How did you pull that off anyway? The costume. I saw your uncle Owen costume."

He's silent. He doesn't want to answer me.

"C'mon Michael. I swear I won't laugh. Besides if you don't, I'll harass the crap out of you."

"I couldn't make it to the final fitting yesterday, but I was able to make it over to Gramma Winchester's today. I wanted her to look over my costume. I wanted it to be perfect. When I got there, she presented me with this one and I thought, why not? So I did it. Tom helped me grow the hair and a lovely person on YouTube showed me how to pin the damned things in place."

"Who did your makeup?"

"Enough questions. We should get back to the daddies before we miss curfew."

Fine, but I'm talking to Gramma Winchester tomorrow. "You still want to go to that party?"

"You've been talking about it since you heard. You begged your father to let you go, achieved a later curfew, made your own costume on the, I quote, _off chance there are prizes for best homemade costume_ and now you're asking if I still want to go as if you no longer wish to?"

I shrug. "Seems like my Halloween is complete that's all." I don't care about the party anymore. I kinda…well I kinda want to hang out with just Michael.

He looks me over. "I don't know what you're up to, but we're going to that party. Come."

GUW

We've all seen that scene from Titanic haven't we? That's me as my husband fucks me hard. We've fogged up the windows and my hand's sliding down the glass. The backseat's not as roomy as it used to be when Cas and I were kids, though it's never really been roomy since I've always been tall. Mama claims I came out of the womb that way.

Still, we manage somehow and we're lost to it. Animalistic, Cas sucking my skin, biting and he's already managed to give me a darn good spanking – my butt is on fire. "Fuck Cas… _fuck_ …"

"Oh Baby, I'm going to fuck you good you'll—"

There's a tapping on the window. "Open up, this is the police."

"Shit!" Cas says.

"Fudge!" I pull off of Cas and roll down the window. "Coming Officer." Except nobody is coming. Not now anyway.

Cas and I scramble out of the car, doing up our pants along way, but it's no secret to the officer as to what we were doing. _Lordy Bee. He's going to arrest us and we won't be here when our son comes back. Thank god he's with Michael._

"Wait a minute…Castiel Winchester? Is that you?"

"Larry Thomas? How are you?"

"Good, good, good."

I'm all relief as they shake hands, I think we're in the clear.

"I'm just out here, you know catching kids lighting off firecrackers in pumpkins, checking into parked cars with fogged up windows…"

"Oh yeah, we're sorry about that. Just having a little fun while we wait for our kid, unless you're planning on arresting us, sir?"

"Cut it with that crap, Castiel! I owe you one anyway, something bigger than this. Don't worry about it. Probably wouldn't have arrested you if you were kids anyway. Just a skeedattle."

"Sam, this is officer Thomas. I helped him out several months back. He was stalled on the side of the road, with a dead battery."

"Yeah. Wouldn't have minded so much if I was working at the time, but I was on my way home from work. Wanted to get home to my family and the tow truck was taking forever, so Cas here pulled over and gave me a jump."

"That sounds like my husband." I smile proudly.

"That's not all. He outfitted all the police officers of the Collins County Police Department with new Colt rifles. Got mine in my cruiser. I also learned recently that we received a huge donation to our _Care of Police Survivors_ fund by a Mr. Castiel Winchester, knew it had to be him. Thank you Castiel. It's appreciated. So no, not gonna arrest you, only sorry I ruined your uh, special times. Me and the wife don't have time for that, so much anymore with the little one."

"Oh, you have a young one too?"

"Yep. A daughter, she's three and keeps us busy."

"I remember those days clearly, as if they were yesterday, I have fond memories of when our son was three," Cas says. "He's eight now." Cas goes on to brag about Dean, much like Clyde does, for a few minutes. He's such a proud Papa. Then the officer leaves.

Cas and I burst out laughing. "Looks like we're having a more eventful Halloween than Dean," I say to Cas. "Thank the good lord you knew that man."

"See? I've got you, Baby. You don't have to worry about a thing."

That's when our son comes plodding up to us, Pala faithfully beside him and…holy crow! Is that Michael?

"Hello Mr. and Mr. Winchester."

Even Cas can't stop his mouth from hanging open. "Michael?"

"What? Is there something on my dress?"

"Okay, enough Sur. You look really great. I thought you were going to be Luke's uncle? You agreed with his parenting techniques, or something like that."

Dean's with Cassy by this point, showing him all his stuff, the pillowcase I let him use is way too full. I notice Michael's pillowcase is empty – I'm not surprised he gave all his candy to Dean. _Well he's not keeping all of it._

Michael looks at him a long time before he answers, Dean doesn't notice. "You can't have a Han Solo without Leia."

_No. No you can't._

"Michael, what happened to your face?" Now that I'm really staring at him, he looks tired. The 'his father's recently beat him' kind of tired.

"Are you going to make me say it? What do you think?"

I let his sour attitude go and put together in my head the reason Michael's been cancelling on Dean. Jesus. He's been cancelling since last Saturday. What did his father do to him?

"Are there more?"

"Yes," he says through grit teeth and plump red lips.

No wonder he's exhausted. "Michael, are you sure you can—"

"I'm going with him to that party Mr. Winchester." The angel has spoken.

"Okay, but then I help you once Dean's in bed. Deal?"

"Yes, sir."

We take them to the party and once again we're banished outside in the car. "This sucks Cassy. Dean's in there and we're out here."

"Do you need another spanking?" He's got his 'I'm not kidding eyes' on.

"No, sir." I definitely don't want to be caught doing that by another police officer outside of Dean's friend's house.

"I do want to know what that angel's up to. How dare he make my mother make him two costumes."

"You don't know that Cassy."

"Well, I'm going to find out."

At ten on the button, Dean comes racing out and he's got a trophy in hand. "Daddy! Daddy look, I won! Best homemade costume. I knew there'd be a trophy. This is the best Halloween ever."

Michael looks about ready to collapse, but he makes enough effort for one rejoinder. "That's because it was the best. The rest of the kids didn't know the difference between glue and scissors."

Dean takes that as an insult, even though it wasn't meant to be. "Ugh, you're exhausting as a woman Michael. Time for you to take the dress off."

"Dean Daniel! That's terrible."

My husband is trying not to laugh. I elbow him. "Apologize, Dean," Cas says.

" _I'm sorry_ , that you're such a nag," he says under his breath hoping I won't hear. But I do and so does Cas who now has to bite his fingers.

Dean's pissed off about something. What happened in there? I leave it. I know he's tired too, it's way past his bedtime.

When we get home, I leave Princess Leia alone in the kitchen with instructions to start the tea, as I put my tired little man to bed. I'd let Michael come with us, but I think these two already need a break from each other. They do say a quick goodnight.

Just as I'm tucking Dean in, he says to me, "Daddy, when did you first like Papa?"

"Like your papa? Since I met him when we were five."

"No I mean _like him_ , like him."

Oh. _Oh._

"Same answer if I'm saying it in hindsight, but I really started crushing on your papa when I was six. I got jealous of other people spending time with him."

"I…I think that happened tonight. Everyone liked Michael's costume, too much at the party. Guys and girls. And he, he liked the attention."

"Do you _like_ Michael, like Michael, sweetheart?"

"Yeah. I think so. I had this secret plan to kiss him, but when I saw how much he liked everyone else fawning all over him, I didn't."

Jesus. It's rare I don't know what to do, but I don't know what to do, so I do the best I can for now, which is what they teach in Parenting 101. "You're a bit young for that anyway, Dean Bean…for kissing. Not to mention, your father will have a flipping bird."

"I can't help the way I feel though, Daddy."

"No you can't. The feelings you're having are normal. I had them too for your Papa. Did you tell Michael?"

"Tell Michael? No way. Uh-uh. I'm not telling him – don't tell him!"

"I would never." I hardly want to tell Cas.

"Okay. Thanks Daddy, I feel better."

"You do?" I didn't do anything.

"Yeah, just had to get that off my chest. Besides, this'll probably pass like it did with that girl I liked. Michael's my best friend. He's mine anyway."

Whether it's right, or wrong, I decide to leave out that friends don't usually call their friends 'mine.' Besides, I think Michael would agree. Pala's already asleep at her hard, won spot beside Dean's bed. I kiss him on the forehead knowing he's safe for the night and leave.

When I make it to the kitchen, I have a dozing angel leaned back in one of the chairs at the table, tea set up in front of him getting cold. He's taken out his hair, so it's long and dark and flowing down his half-naked body, since he's got the top of his gown pulled down, ready for me to rub in aloe. He knows the drill by now. His body's little again and soft, all of its hard lines gone, but there's something still hard about him and even though he looks young, he looks old at the same time. His torso has lines like the one on his face and he must have removed his makeup somewhat because I can see how red the line on his face still is.

How dare anyone hurt my Michael.

I pull out the brush I know is in the kitchen drawer and move over to him and brush out his long, silky hair, he opens his eyes, but doesn't move, letting me brush. "Dean okay?"

"He's fine, Michael. Out like a light."

"Oh. Good."

"Are you going to keep this?" I say referring to his hair.

"Heck, no. I was hoping you'd shave it for me, actually."

"That's a shame, but okay. I wish Cassy'd let me grow my hair this long."

"Oh yes, Papa Winchester's thing about hair. On second thought maybe just a trim."

I roll my eyes and shake my head. Those two.

I used to cut the hair of my siblings plenty. Sure we could afford to go to the hairdresser, but often it was more convenient to do it at home, 'specially when there were too many young ones to truck with you everywhere. It became good memories I enjoyed, so I like doing it for Dean and Cas once in a while, I've got all the equipment. I'm cutting it to his shoulders when Cas walks in. "What's going on in here?"

"We're cutting Michael's hair, Cassy."

"I hope you're not done, it's too long."

Uh oh.

I look at Michael. "Fine, take another inch off."

Cas shakes his head. "No. All of it. Back to how it was before."

"What? That's outrageous. You're not my father, you can't tell me what to do."

"You're in my home often enough and if I'm going to have to look at you, you will have a respectable hair cut."

Michael's livid, but he won't argue with Cas…much. "Women have long hair all the time."

"Are you a woman?"

"No."

"Do you identify as a woman?"

"No."

"Then it's just hooliganism and I believe it's 'no, sir.'"

Cas is enjoying this way too much. Michael's still not ready to admit defeat. "But Dallas's hair—"

"You are not Dallas either, so don't bother going there. If you want admission into my home, you can do as I say and I say cut your hair, but if you don't want to respect my wishes, then don't, it makes no difference to me. I think I'd enjoy a home with one less angel in it."

"Cas!"

"It's okay Mr. Winchester," Michael says to me. "I'll cut it, sir," Michael says to Cas.

"I appreciate it Michael, though next time I'll appreciate it more without the attitude."

"Yes, sir."

"You coming to bed soon, Baby?"

Cas comes over to kiss me. "Soon, Cassy."

Cas leaves. "Sorry, Michael. He's just being protective Papa."

"I know. It's not something I'm going to cry over, believe me. I just hate that he won this round."

I laugh and pull out the clippers.

When I'm done, I give him a hand held mirror to admire himself with, as I sweep up all the hair. I'm sure our tea is cold by now, but what we usually achieve with tea, we did with hair trimmers tonight. I'll still rub aloe over his scars when I'm done cleaning up. "So?"

"You are as good hair cuts as you are everything else. Thank you, sir."

"Still can't sew."

"Okay, just about everything else. I like it though. I think Dean will too."

That gets my attention. Everything they both say is going to be different from now on. "Why does it matter if Dean will like it?"

He looks at me as if I just asked him if the sun is hot, because it's always been this understood thing, that Dean and Michael do things for Dean and Michael. It's all changed now though because my little boy has a crush on him. "Did you cut away some of your brain's sensory equipment too? I only care what Dean thinks. I've only ever cared what Dean thinks."

Now he's just being cranky. He's a tired little angel. I don't know what they call little angels. Cherubs? Nestlings? Whatever it is, that's what he is right now. He's far younger this time than the last time he was 'eleven.' What kind of Modlenol did Lucifer use on him?

I finish rubbing aloe on him as he glares at the floor in front of him. I don't know what else happened at that party, but something did and a startling realization hits me. I think…I think I've got to take a Daddy time out on this one. Cas is right. I've got to let go a little bit. Dean came to me on his own about liking Michael, we should have trusted Dean when he said he knew Michael would show up. Being there too much is just as crippling to a child's development as not being there enough. They've got to figure this out between the two of them and I just have to hope they'll ask for help when they need it.

"Okay. Up the stairs, into bed." I'll put Michael in a guest room, far away from Dean. Dean'll be stoked to have Michael here in the morning.

"Bed? Here? But Papa Winchester will—"

"I know just what to do with Papa Winchester, Sugar, leave him to me. Call your father and tell him." Michael's father is strangely lenient on him being here, so long as it doesn't interfere with something he needs Michael to do. "C'mon. I'll even tuck you in."

THE NEXT DAY: SUNDAY DINNER

My parents come for Sunday dinner, since they are here and since it's their last night before they head back to Texas. I kicked the angel out well before dinner. I was already ticked with Sam for letting him stay without asking me, but puppy eyes McGee played the 'his father carved him up with an angel blade' card and I felt sorry for him, so I said no more about it. _Yes, even I feel sorry for him over that._

That angel spends too many Sunday dinners here if you ask me. I know him and Dean are just kids, but something feels wrong about it, like it's an omen for the future. Well there's no way, none, nothing that could convince me to allow Michael to _attend Sunday dinners_ permanently.

Friends stopping in for the odd Sunday dinner is allowed, but boyfriends, girlfriends…not unless it's serious. I'll be in my grave before I let that angel get serious with my son. I see the way he looks at Dean – it's the same way my son's started to look at him.

Dean's gone off with Grampa and Sam's left to make a phone call, it's just Mother and I in the kitchen drinking a second cup of coffee after dinner. Hers is decaf, but mine's the regular stuff. It doesn't keep me up like it does her.

Now's my time to ask her about this whole Halloween fiasco. "I can't believe the angel had you make him two costumes, Mother. You should have told him no."

"He didn't dear."

I almost spit out my coffee. "What? Mother, what happened?"

She sighs long and suffering like I'm a foolish, foolish child that doesn't get something and she's gathering a world of patience. She wraps her polished hands over top of mine. "He never did plan on going as anything other than what Dean wanted him to. I came up with the idea to surprise him. I heard them arguing and I asked to speak to Michael in private. Dean assumed I was scolding him."

"Your idea? But he told Dean—"

"Mmm-hmm, my idea. He doesn't want Dean to know, which he's got his own reasons for, ones he's not ready to share. He probably lied to Dean."

"See? He lied to my boy. How can he be trusted?"

"Only when it's important. He only lies when it's important. You know lying's not always bad Castiel. I know that boy, he's got good reasons if he's lying. Michael also likes to tease Dean, it's how they are, but I knew he would have eventually caved. Michael does whatever Dean wants sweetheart, so long as it's not something Michael deems dangerous. You can't have anyone better for your boy than that."

I'm flabbergast. Does everyone like Michael except me?

"Trust in our Lord, Castiel. He sent Dean an angel for a reason."

My parents know about Michael, the Cole's notes anyway, we've left out much of the Lucifer stuff, for now. "So it's not Michael you trust, but God?"

"Well I do trust God, but that's not all. I trust Michael too, he makes Dean happy."

"Yes, I can see that, but he also makes Dean miserable."

She laughs and I know why. I've just described love in a nutshell. "So you were his accomplice," I declare.

"And your father. When he heard it was for Dean he offered to run out and buy the makeup colors we needed."

He, he did? If even my father's on board with this, I'm screwed.

Dean comes running in through sliding door, Father and Pala behind him. "Papa! Papa!" he says huffing and puffing clearly having sprinted here. "I just had this great idea. We can build a treehouse in the back yard. Me and you. It'll be so cool. I'll start a club, have kids over, we can drink Daddy's lemonade up there."

"Dean—"

"Before you say no, just, just think about it, okay? Please, pretty please? I've always wanted one."

"Always?" Yeah, always since about five minutes ago.

"Yeah, always."

Hmm…this is going to take thought and some discussions with Sam. "Your daddy and I will discuss it."

"Sweet! I gotta call Michael and tell him you said probably."

"It's not probably, Mr. Winchester."

"You didn't say no and the things you don't say no to right away, you say yes to about seventy-five percent of the time, so in Dean 'Chester land, that's a probably."

I am getting far too predictable for him, but I'm proud of him for being so smart, so I smile. "Well I'd lower that to a maybe if I were you," I say pulling him to me and laying a couple of light swats to his bottom. "Those are for being too smart, go ahead and phone Michael."

Later

Later I'm in my office thinking. No, actually I'm stewing. My head is spinning and that doesn't happen to Castiel Winchester often. The conversation with my mother has brought with it a startling realization; something I've always known, but in light of recent events, the cement dries further.

If I'm honest with myself and it's really the only thing you can be with yourself, I knew since the first time Michael sat at our table and Dean marked him with sparkles that this would be the path for these two. Fate brought them together; in this life they are destined. There's nothing I can do, nothing; I'm going to have to give my angel to _that_ angel someday and I just don't have faith in that angel. He hasn't proven himself to me, but then could anyone ever when it comes to handing over my son?

I tap my fingers on my desk and recall what's inside. I pull out the jar of glitter, a bomb of contagious sparkle bits waiting to go off, never ever leaving the bearer. _Dean's sparkles never left Michael. The sparkles Dean put there._

I slip into Dean's room and leave them on his desk where I found them. Dean will know what to do with them. He'll have a plan, or not, he'll do something with them, or not, I don't care, because either way Dean's who I have faith in. Dean. One hundred percent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. Sam doesn't notice the chocolate on Dean's costume. He got away scott free on that one. Dean dressed himself for bed and shoved his costume quickly into the hamper, which the laundry person will wash.


	4. Sam Spanks Michael

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! This is me, Mock procrastinwriting! Yeah that's a thing. I'm supposed to be working on my exam, but instead I wrote almost another whole chapter for BDD _and_ this TS. Everyone was so curious about Sam spanking Michael, my muse said, "That's gotta be waaaaay funner than doing an exam," so it got written. 
> 
> So this is short. I literally wrote this in two hours. But I hope it's enough to satisfy curiosity.
> 
> But now off to finish the exam...I mean it! If you see me on here, or Tumblr, or emailing you, ask me: "Is your exam finished?" If it's not, kick me off. I have no discipline today. Somebody send me a Cas.

**Time Frame:** Before the Star Wars Halloween. Before Michael is spiked again. Post GUW (1). Dean is five. Michael is fifteen.

I know something's up as soon as they both walk in to the room, Pala trailing faithfully beside Dean. My Daddy-sense is tingling. Big time. I've got to hand it to them, they're putting on a pretty good act, one only the two of them can from their years of practice, good enough for some, but it's not good enough for me. I watch them both carefully and decide how I'm going to bring them to their own ruin.

Not that hard with a five-year-old. Michael knows this; he's sweating.

"Hey Dean Bean, what were you guys doing out there?"

"Playing Daddy. What else?"

Michael knows I'm onto them. "Papa's going to be home soon, come here so I can wash your face and hands."

"Awww, Daddy. I'm not even dirty."

"Come here now, Dean Winchester."

"Ugh. Fine."

He's five and he's already like this. What's he going to be like as a teen? "That's 'yes sir' to you Mister." He plods over to me, Pala follows him. I lift him onto the counter by the sink and start washing him off. Inspecting him. Maybe something happened to Dean and they're trying to cover it up? Not something they haven't done before.

Michael does look just the slightest bit more nervous with me looking Dean over.

"If Papa Winchester's coming home soon, I should scram." He moves to start heading out of the sliding glass kitchen door.

"Freeze."

He does, literally then turns around to face me again. "You're not going anywhere Michael. Sit there." I point to the kitchen chair. "Out with it. What happened out there?"

"Okay, okay. I can't _take_ it anymore," Dean says in his cute little exasperated five-year-old voice.

"You're such a little snitch."

"He's gonna find out anyway, Michael. I fell out of a tree."

"You what? Dean Daniel Jonathan, what were you doing in a tree?"

"I've done it with my Colt cousins plenty. I'm good at it, Daddy."

I love my family, but gosh, darned Colts! "So good you fell out of a tree?"

"It's okay, Daddy. It happens. I'm not perfect. Everyone makes mistakes sometimes, that's what you always say."

"Lordy Bee, Dean Daniel." My son's either going to end up a lawyer or a con-artist. I don't know that there's much of a difference between the two. "You're not supposed to be climbing trees in the first place. I know you know that. Papa's not going to like hearing this story."

That brings him back from his five-year-old delusions. He looks as his hands. "Did you get hurt falling out of the tree?"

Dean looks over to his partner in crime. "Why are you looking at me?"

"I forget what I was supposed to say to that."

"Michael."

The angel's having a mini-panic attack. "I'm sorry I couldn't help it."

"That's what I'm seeing. You used your grace Michael. Didn't you?" He's doing a fair job of hiding it, but he's exhausted.

"I did and I don't regret it."

I have my rules for reasons. Important reasons. Michael's father can tell when he uses his grace, because of the extreme fatigue he experiences afterward and I'm sure, other angel reasons. Now, his father is going to torture the crap out of him when he gets home and there's nothing I can do about it. I can try to prevent it happening again.

I pull Dean off of the counter and set him down. "I'll be dealing with you in a minute little boy." I approach the angel.

"He broke his pinky finger. Do you have any idea how important that is for grip-strength?"

Yes I see the irony. Michael is literally wrapped around Dean's little finger.

"Yeah, Daddy. But it's all fixed now. See?" He flexes his fingers a few times. "Ouch."

"I told you to be careful with that. Just because it's 'fixed,' doesn't mean it's all better. It still needs a bit of healing time."

Not that I want my son to have a broken finger, but it would have gone a long ways in teaching him a lesson about climbing trees. "I'm glad you're all better Dean, but we have rules about Michael healing you."

"Why? I don't see the problem."

Of course I can't tell him the real reason, he'll freak. And he's too young. And I'm sure he'll find out some day when he's older and better able to understand. Though I'm not really sure actually. Old Dean has mostly slipped away from our Dean, all except that saving people-thing. It's a spark, a bright spark. One he'd even risk being spanked for if he knew someone was in need, which gives me an idea.

"The problem is, I said so. What was in the tree, Dean?"

He looks away.

" _Dean._ "

"Mrs. Whiskers, okay? I couldn't just leave her up there."

"You let him do this Michael?"

"I tired to go up. He wanted to do it. He said he'd be fine."

"And you believed him?"

"Not really, but I knew I could catch him."

"He gave you the Dean eyes, didn't he? Damn it Michael."

"Hey! You swore Daddy."

"Like Nana says, once in a while, there is cause for an _adult_ to swear—not little boys. Got it?"

"Yes, Daddy."

"Believe me, it's a mistake I won't be making again," Michael says. Like he does every time.

"How did he manage to break the pinky?" Even with his limited grace, the angel has amazing agility and reflexes. If Dean's going to climb a tree, having his angel there to catch him is probably the best possible scenario.

"My phone vibrated and as you know, if I don't respond to my father immediately I'll be in trouble."

I know that too well.

"He looked fine and I only looked away for a microsecond, but that's all it took for him to fall. I moved as fast as I could, but my timing was off by just enough we landed funny and his pinky got crushed, by my vessel."

So triple whammy. Not only does he feel like Dean's fall was his fault for letting him climb the tree and taking his eyes off him, but his vessel physically hurt him. The guilt. The angel's probably itching for some Pine-Sol therapy.

"What happened with Mrs. Whiskers?"

"After all that, she climbed down herself. Can you believe that?" Dean says.

I shake my head. "You two are both in big trouble. Michael, you first." I open my drawer and pull out the dreaded wooden spoon.

"Wait! Don't I get some kind of points for saving your son? He could have died. Do you really have to use _that?_ "

"Reminding me my son could have died gets you no points. You should have stopped him in the first place." I can't help being a bit amused by the angel. It's not like my spankings hurt anything more than his angel-pride. I sit on the kitchen's bench seat and pull the angel up by his arm.

"Couldn't I at least have some privacy, sir?"

"You two want to get into trouble together, you can be punished together too."

Without pomp or circumstance, I unbutton Michael's black slacks and pull them straight down to his ankles, along with his boxers. His face is flushed pink. Even in his fatigued state, he's still at least as strong, if not stronger than me, but he goes easily over my lap, not fighting me in the least. I start spanking him with my hand, hard well-aimed swats. It takes a number of them, but he does give some indication that he's feeling this spanking. I'm sure it's nothing like what he's used to, I don't intend for this to be anywhere near that. Just a reasonable deterrent

"I'm sorry, Mr. Winchester."

"Thank you, Michael." I pick up my spoon. "Unfortunately, we've talked about this before, which is why I'm using this," I say tapping his pink bottom with my spoon. "You ask me before you heal him and it goes without saying, don't let the five-year-old climb trees no matter how cute he is." I'm guilty of that myself. We all are. We've all gotten spankings over it at one time or another. That includes Cas. Not from me of course, that's not how we like our relationship to work, but from Clyde.

I give him ten good ones with my spoon. I can see his body tense with each one, but he's amazingly still.

It was swift, but effective. I pull him up off my lap and help him fix his clothes. "To the corner, that one, fifteen minutes." I still give time-out minutes according to 'age.' He moves off to the corner.

"Okay, Dean 'Chester, it's your turn."

He treks over resigned to his fate. "I'm sorry, Daddy."

His pants and underwear come down too, but it's easier since Dean still wears pants with elastic waistbands. "You know you're not supposed to climb up trees, with angels or Colts," I say then give him a few swats. He's not nearly as stoic as Michael. He's already crying after five.

"I won't! Never again."

"You won't." He will. I give him five more spanks. "Or you can have five of these, Mister." I pick up my spoon and give him one, pop with my spoon. His bottom is barely pink. I don't spank Dean as hard as I did Michael at his younger age. Just enough to deter him doing dangerous things. All the time-outs in the world don't seem to do it for Dean. Spanking him at least has him making sure it's really worth it before he decides to do something silly.

I pull up his clothes. "Corner, that one. Five minutes." He's up and over to the corner quickly. I put my spoon away, just as Dally walks in.

"What did I miss?"

"I climbed and fell out of a tree Uncle Dally."

"People in corners don't talk."

"Climbed a tree? I thought he was allowed to do that—he's always doin' it with the Colt cousins."

"Apparently." How have I missed this? Sammy junior's always watching them. He wouldn't let them do that, would he?

"And Michael? What did he do?"

"I healed him without permission."

"Hey. Enough from the peanut gallery. I will start both your times over."

Dal helps himself to some coffee, still in the pot and grabs some cream out of the fridge. "Now this is a story I want to watch you tell Cas."

"What do you want to see him tell me?"

"Cas. You're home early." I was kinda hoping Michael would have left the scene of the crime before Cas got here.

"I am, Baby. You don't sound very happy about that."

"I am. Guess I better just out with it."

I tell him the story as relayed to me and by that time, Dean's corner time is over. "Okay Dean, you can come out now."

"I'm fine in the corner Daddy."

"C'mon Dean Bean, Papa won't bite you."

Papa is taking off his coat and loosening his tie, as he does, while he gives his boy a very unimpressed look. "I hope you're set on obeying your daddy, young man."

Yes. I know. Cas is a bit harsh. Yes it makes Dean cry. But Dean still picks him to be cuddled by grabbing onto his leg. Cas sets his tie on the counter and picks up his little boy. "I-I'm sorry, Papa. N-not gonna do it again."

Cas hugs him close and kisses his crown. "I'm going to hold you to that."

Dean soaks up the Papa cuddles. I understand. Papa cuddles are the best. "Michael, your time's up," I tell him.

"I'm fine in the corner, sir."

"Michael, come here please," Cas says.

Wincing harder than when I was spanking him, Michael glides his skinny teenage vessel over to Cas trying hard to maintain a visage of courage. "You were trusted with my son. You failed. Leave."

"I-I-I, forever?"

"Until I don't want to murder you anymore."

"Cas." I look at Dean, who's now looking up at his Papa a bit frightened.

"I'm sorry angel," he says to Dean. "I didn't mean that. I meant, until I cool off."

It's true. Cas is practically sizzling. You'll have to excuse him. Thinking of his son falling out of a tree and to his potential, neck-snapping death makes even the most rational of people irrational.

"Yes, sir."

"Wait! Cas, Michael's just been spanked." We all know what that means in this house. The spankee is entitled to some after spanking cuddles—whether they want them or not.

"Fine. But I can't stay here, looking at him. I'm taking Dean with me. I want him gone within the hour."

Michael pales. Cas's disdain affects Michael more than Michael tries to let on. Sure they argue, but underneath the anger, is Michael trying to get some scrap of approval from Papa Winchester. "Of course, Cassy." That was the original plan, I don't say.

"Why'am I coming with you, Papa?"

"All I can say is, when you come home to find out your son has just fallen from a tree, you'll understand."

Pala follows them out of the kitchen. "Were you scared, Papa?"

"Very scared…" I hear as they get further away.

"I don't need cuddles, Mr. Winchester," Michael says as soon as Cas is out of earshot.

"Yes, you do," Dally croons at him pulling him into a bear hug from behind.

I join in, encircling him from the front. "C'mere cornbread."

"I'm not cornbread. Will you two yahoos let me go?"

"Not a chance, sugar donut." That's Dal.

That actually gets us a laugh from our temperamental angel.

"We like hugging our potatobug."

"You're both ridiculous," he says not fighting us anymore. Dally lets go leaving me with him, I pull him further into the hug 'till he has no choice but to put his arms around me and lean his head on my shoulder. I run a hand through his hair and try to seep love into him via some kind of energetic osmosis. He may be an archangel, but to me, he's the boy who's spent the last seven years practically, living in my home. He became one of my own quickly. The way he looks doesn't help. He looks like every lost, alone-feeling teenager. Not to mention, I'm so much bigger than him. I can still dwarf him in my arms.

"I love you so much, sweetheart. Please don't do things that are going to get you hurt."

"You spanked me. That hurt."

"I think it hurt your pride more than anything else. Still, case and point. Does it still hurt?"

"No. It's warm, but the sting's all gone."

"There, see?" I try not to think about what his father's going to do to him. "Now promise me, you'll come to me next time?"

"I will, sir."

I kiss his forehead, then release him. "Okay. I think you're sufficiently cuddled. You may go."

"Is he, will he ever cool off enough to let me back?"

"Cas?" Dal interjects. "Whether he does or not, he'll let you back. He can't disappoint Dean."

"You're sure about this?"

I nod my agreement. "Also, I'll make sure he cools off. There are things I can do," I say winking.

"Ugh. So didn't need to know that. All right. I shall depart then," he says, but his body language isn't intent on leaving. He looks up to make sure Dally is distracted with something (he's making himself a sandwich) then he looks back to me.

"Thanks, Mr. Winchester and uh, me too."


	5. The Only Thing That Exists (1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Everyone!
> 
> This was spurred by a conversation with Bella and it wouldn't leave my head. Then, it grew into this convoluted piece that was meant to fill yet another hole about Dean and Michael and became way too long. Then it wouldn't fucking end. I was hoping there would be a spanking in it, but that never happened either. So basically what lies ahead is a potentially boring, but hopefully funny, gap-filling piece. Either way, it had to be written. I could not finish any other piece of writing until it was complete. There will be two chapters for a total of approx 11.5K
> 
> In good news, I passed my exam with a whopping 95%. I couldn't believe it myself. Now prepping for the verbal. 
> 
> In real good news, the next chapter of BDD is almost done, so that will be up soon. Then sadly, I have to bring my computer in and it could take a few days to get it back :-( This means some delays, but I will write by hand (like I did in Fiji) so that I can just type it all up upon its return. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> P.S. I'm greatly influenced by Full/er House these days...

"That hair's getting a little long, young man," Papa says. He just got home from work, he's always working and my messy mop is not the first thing he'd like to see. We're in the dining room. Apparently Daddy made something special and he wants to surprise us. We're to wait in here for him. The new guy, Randy has the night off. This one, Daddy and Papa gave him off, but he's always taking nights off, I don't think he's going to last around here much longer.

"We're all growing it, Papa. It's lucky."

"Who's we all?" Papa does that thing where he arches his brow as if it's saying 'oh really? I'll see about that.' He does that a lot.

"The hockey team." I take a sip of my water. I'm trying to go for 'nonchalant.' I figure if I make it like I already have permission, he'll just go with it.

"The hockey team minus the one Dean Winchester. It's already a mess. I want you to get it cut this weekend."

"Is that what the problem is? Papa, I can take care of it, I promise."

"You know I don't repeat myself." Not that he doesn't _like_ to repeat himself, that he _doesn't_ repeat himself. He's always very specific about that. But he wasn't specific on how much I had to cut it. It is fairly long. So I can't grow it past the frame of my face, I'll get the hairdresser to shave it just enough to get by Papa.

"I'll get it cut Papa."

Uncle Dal walks in. "Sorry I'm a bit late."

"What are you doing here, Uncle Dal?"

"Your daddy invited me. Something about a special dinner?"

What the hell is going on? Since Uncle Dally's singing career began to take off, he bought his own home close by. He still has a room here though and stays often. "Do you know anything about it, Papa?"

"Unfortunately, but my lips are sealed."

"So it's something bad?" I say.

"It's not bad, it's just…not good," Papa says.

"That's in no way helpful, Papa."

He smiles. "You'll see in a minute, mop-head."

"My hair's not that bad."

"It is a bit unkempt half pint."

Papa gives me a satisfied look with his eyes that say 'see?'

That's when Daddy enters; right away I'm suspicious. Not because of what Papa said, though that does have me a bit worried, but because of what's on his face; his too big smile, the one that looks painted on. He's trying to get us to be happy about something and he's buying it with…is that lasagna? "Hello family." He sets the large tray of steaming lasagna down in front of Papa. He's got his big blue and green oven mitts on, one of which he uses to pull Papa's face into a kiss.

"Hey Baby."

"Hey Cassy."

They spend the next minute staring at each other, Daddy's for real smile is back as he gives Papa a dreamy look. "C'mon you two. We want to eat, here. Make-out upstairs." Yeah I said it. No I wasn't thinking. I'm thirteen, this stuff just comes out.

All Papa's humor is gone and I can feel his eyes on me. I'm looking at my plate. I already know I'm in trouble. "We've talked about this Dean. I'm sorry to see my lecture wasn't enough. I want an essay on respect."

"I-I'm sorry, Papa," I say with hitched breath.

"You don't think so now, but one day you'll appreciate having parents as in love as they are, half pint."

Sure. Maybe one day. No one else's parents make-out all the time.

"Look what I made for y'all," Daddy says with too much of his accent. "My special Lasagna. Hand me your plate Dean Bean."

I do eyeing him suspiciously. When we're all served, Daddy says grace. "Thank you kind Lord for this bountiful meal. May it fill our bellies to the top!"

That's a strange prayer, even for Daddy. "Let's eat," Papa says. We all dig in.

I take a bite, savor the deliciousness of the gooey melted cheese, Daddy's homemade tomato sauce and…no, no he didn't…I put my fork down and look at him with accusing eyes. "These noodles have modified corn starch in them, Daddy, what is going on?"

He uses his spatula (I've been spanked by that spatula) to scoop another piece on my plate. "Eat up, Dean Bean."

That's when Michael, clearly having come from the kitchen entrance, Kimmy Gibbler's himself into the dining room.

With hopefully no one noticing, I take a moment to admire him. He's tall now. I remember when he was the height I'm at now, but no more, he's tall and a big stringy, but somehow, his body still manages to be 'right' for him and perfect. He's an angel, so he looks young, but as he is now, he looks _so_ young. Daddy considers him eighteen, but I don't know what age to consider him, all I know is he's something I can't have. He doesn't even know I exist.

I wish he weren't so God damned beautiful with his hard blue eyes and the slightly longer hair he's sporting nowadays. He'll only let it grow so long though. His father doesn’t care how long he has it, mine does. Papa has a thing about long hair and hooliganism and there's a specific length he's defined in his head that each of us is allowed to have.

Michael smiles his beautiful smirk-y smile as I pretend not to see it. Papa makes it known how much his presence is an irritant. "Michael, what have I told you about arriving unexpectedly?"

"Not to, sir, I was invited. I let Daddy Winchester know I would be arriving a bit late."

"That can't be true, there's no place set for you."

"It is true, Cassy. I didn’t get a chance to tell you. Michael said he wouldn't be eating that's why there's no place set."

"My vessel cannot seem to handle those processed noodles."

"Then why is he here?" Papa growls.

"I asked him to be here. Have a seat Michael you're just in time for my announcement."

I knew Daddy was up to something. Michael takes his place, which is beside me. Things have changed between us. I get nervous when he's near me now. I fucking hate it. It's because of all these fucking teenage hormones. Michael makes my dick harden, but to him, I'm just some little kid. I wish he'd go away. I mean, he's my best friend, but I think we should hang out less.

"Hello, Dean."

"Hi Michael." I squeeze my thigh under the table to keep my hand from shaking. I hate when he's this close.

"Okay, Samuel. Get this announcement over with, so we can eat in peace."

"Yeah, Sammy. You're making me nervous," Uncle Dal says.

Suddenly, it all clicks for me. "Wait a minute, Lasagna with my favorite processed noodles, full bellies, everyone present for the announcement…Daddy no! Please not a again."

"It's just for three days." That gives it away for all involved.

Uncle Dally, who loves food as much as I do groans. "I don't even live here anymore, Sammy."

"But you're still in my care. You're doing it too. I was hoping you'd stay the weekend."

"Michael, don't you have anything to say about this?" I demand.

"Why would I? I don’t _need_ food. Three days on a juice cleanse makes no difference to me, except that the amount of whining I'll have to listen to from you increases."

Suddenly the lasagna doesn't taste as good. "It's only three days Dean Bean and Monday is a Pro-D day for you, plus no hockey this weekend. It's perfect. We start tomorrow."

Once a year, Daddy makes us all do a three day juice cleanse. And it's not just juice. He combines it with what he calls his guterrific happy-tummy cleanse. I call it starving for three days. "Second thought, load me up Daddy." I plan to eat all night. There's no talking him out of it. Ever since Dr. Shaggy gave him the recommendation years ago, it became part of our health regime. Daddy even got all the Colts onto it and Gramma and Grampa Winchester too.

After dinner I expect Michael to leave like he usually does, but he doesn't. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

"The juice cleanse doesn't start until tomorrow, don't tell me you're going to start your sour mood with a full stomach."

"I'm not sour. You usually have somewhere to be. You know, like with your friends or something." It goes without saying, Michael's father is fucked up, but currently, he's going through this weird phase where he wants Michael to 'have human friends.' Something about better assimilation. No idea what the fuck that means. Don't care to either. Here's the more fucked up thing though, Michael found friends he _likes_ hanging around with. I don't know what they do, but it's something Michael likes.

"Well I have some time for you, then Bryce is picking me up."

Ooh. Bryce. "Don't do me any fucking favors." We're outside, way out of range of Daddy's hearing and his bar of soap.

"Why are you being such a shithead?"

"I just have better things to do than to hang out with you all the time."

"Fine. I'll tell Bryce to come get me now then."

Tom must have dropped him off then. "No vehicle?"

"Father said no."

Michael's been working on getting his own vehicle. His father lets him use various vehicles from time to time, but won't give him one. Looks like that's not a problem for him though. He's got Bryce. "Well I have a friend too. I'm going to invite _him_ over."

He looks at me like he's trying to solve a Rubix cube. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing. I just, I have other friends than you too."

"You're thirteen, Dean."

That makes me blush. He's starting to figure it out, that I like him, like him. I don't want him to know. I never want him to know. "Fuck off, Michael. Get over yourself."

He grits his teeth. "I should spank you." He's spanked me before. "Would you talk that way to your parents?"

"No, but you're not my parent, so fuck off." I seal that with a cocky smile.

That makes him angry. His angel shows up in his eyes, the eerie blue grace pours out of it, but I'm too teenager to take it for the warning that it is. "You know what, Michael? Leave. Wait out front. I don't want to look at you."

That kills his scary angel glow, which is good because it was kinda starting to work and I feel a bit bad because now he looks hurt, but I've gone too far now and my Winchester pride won't back down from this. "I won't hang out with Bryce if you don't want me to. There. Will that fix your sulk?"

"No. I want you to. In fact, why don't you _just_ hang out with him from now on."

He's back to angry. "Fine. I will."

"Leave. Don't bother coming back." I've lost track of how many times I've said that over the course of teenage-hood. Fucking hormones man. Messing with my head. Things were so much easier a couple years ago.

"I wouldn't, but Daddy Winchester's not going to let me off the juice cleanse this weekend just because we're fighting."

"We're not fighting. We're ending. This friendship is over."

"You don't mean that."

"I do. Leave me alone Michael."

"Fine with me, but you clear it with Daddy Winchester first. I'm not getting spanked over this."

"I'll do it right now. Let's go."

We head back inside, where Daddy's in the kitchen still cleaning up. Papa offered his help, but Daddy looked at him with that _please let me take care of you two_ look that Papa has a hard time resisting. He wouldn't let anyone help, not that I'm complaining, but I think it's because he feels a little guilty about this juice cleanse business. He should.

Uncle Dally's banished to the table where he's drinking tea and likely just keeping Daddy company. I storm through the sliding glass door with Michael. Immediately, Uncle Dal's eyes perk up with amusement, but he doesn't say anything. He knows by now something's coming. Daddy, with eyes in the back of his head doesn't need to see me. His Daddy's sixth sense tells him everything he needs to know. He doesn't even turn around. "What are you and Michael fighting about now, sweetheart?"

"We're not fighting. I just don't want to be friends with him anymore. I don't want him coming back here. Tell him he's out of the cleanse."

Now Daddy does turn around, he's unimpressed. "We don't kick people out of the family Dean Daniel. Apologize."

To Daddy, kicking them out of the cleanse is the equivalent to kicking them out of the family. I guess he's sort of right. I did say I never want to see him again. "Apologize? Why should I? He's my friend, if I don't want to hang out with him anymore, that's my choice."

"I think I'm going to be sorry for asking this, but…" he sighs. "What is this all about? Michael?"

Michael's a goody-two-shoes-rat always sucking up to Daddy, Uncle Dal and even Papa. I know he'll tell Daddy exactly why he thinks we're fighting, I glare at him in preparation. "He's jealous. He doesn't want me hanging out with my friend, Bryce. I told him I wouldn't, but he still insists on being a brat."

My face heats up, embarrassed because I know how it sounds. Daddy's my best friend, but I haven't even felt comfortable telling him my feelings for Michael. When I was younger, Daddy said I'd told him I liked Michael, but that was a long time ago and I was just a little kid then. This is different and new. I didn't want anyone knowing yet. I have to turn this around. "Ugh! That's not even true!" My eyes prick with stupid angry tears. I increase my level of mad to stop them from falling. "This is stupid. I'm outta here. I'm not talking about this if you're just going to listen to him." I move to leave the kitchen.

"Freeze. Sit down please Dean Bean. No one is 'just listening' to anyone. We're going to sort this out. Lordy Bee Michael, did you have to say it like that?"

Michael's lips draw into a line not liking Daddy's disapproval. I take a seat beside Uncle Dally on the bench and he pulls me to him. "Come on half pint, we're going to sort this out. Take a breath."

I do. Uncle Dally's voice alone is soothing and calms me. Uncle Dal smells good too. Like a cozy cup of tea on a rainy day. I take a couple breaths. "There you go."

"Dean, can you tell me what you think happened?" Daddy asks.

No. Because it's exactly like Michael said, but I don't want to say it. "I just, I don't want to talk about it. He's mean and I don't like him. I don't want him to do the juice cleanse with us."

Daddy looks me over. If he thought it was just something silly, he'd make me talk, but he knows me well enough to know I'm not talking in this instance because I'm not comfortable saying anything in front of anyone. He doesn't make me. "Okay sweetheart. If you don't want to tell me right now, that's fine. We can talk about it later, in private. But regardless of what happened, I do expect you and Michael to make up. We're family. I'm not letting him out of the cleanse. I care about his insides too."

No matter how many times Michael's explained that his grace takes care of his insides, Daddy stubbornly believes that the _care_ involved taking him through the cleanse gives Michael's vessel something his grace can't provide. Daddy believes in all that hippy-dippy energy bullcrap. "Papa wouldn't say Michael's family," I say meanly.

"I know you're upset sweetheart, but it's no reason to be nasty."

I think so, but sometimes, I know when to keep my thoughts to myself.

"I agree with Dean. I'm not really family, I don't want to do the juice cleanse anyway."

Now Daddy's hurt and cross with both of us. "No one's out of the juice cleanse, or the family."

Michael's phone rings. "That'll be my ride," he says moving toward the door.

Daddy looks furious at the two of us. "No one's going anywhere 'till you both apologize and hug it out. Now."

"Go'on half pint," Uncle Dally prompts me to stand.

"Reluctantly, Michael and I approach each other. "Sorry," we say at the same time to appease Daddy. Neither of us mean it.

"Hug."

Michael and I put our arms awkwardly around each other. "This isn't over," he says in my ear, low so Daddy can't hear.

"Not by a long shot."

At least we agree on something.

**

I'm in my room tearing down pictures of Michael and I, when I get the knock I expect on my door. "Come in."

Daddy's tall form enters my room and softly closes the door behind him. He looks as good as I always remember him to. The Colt and Winchester genes seem to be anti-aging or something. Even when I look back at old pictures, the two don't appear to have changed much. Maybe a little, but they've yet to wrinkle, it's more in their eyes. Daddy's a strong guy. He likes to work out, so he keeps a healthy supply of muscles and with the way he makes us all eat, his hair is shinier than ever. He runs both hands through the chin-length hair and appraises me. "Aw, Dean Bean, don't take those down yet. Things will work out between you and Michael, it always does."

"Not this time, Daddy. I don't see how it could."

"Will you talk to me about it? Bet I can help."

"I'll talk, but I don't think you can help. No offense, Daddy."

He smiles like I'm entertaining him. "None taken sweetheart." He sits on my bed. "Okay, try me."

"M-Michael wasn't wrong. I, I think I like him as more than a friend."

"Oh, Dean Bean. Your father's going to have kittens."

"He doesn't have to worry. Michael doesn't even know I'm alive."

Daddy bursts out laughing and has to cover his mouth.

"Daddy! I'm having a crisis here."

"I'm sorry, sugar dumpling, but you saying that Michael doesn't know you exist is funny. You're the only thing that exists to Michael."

"Bryce is the only thing that exists to Michael. He can't stop talking about him. It's always Bryce this and Bryce that. Oh, Bryce is coming to pick me up Dean. Oh, I'm hanging out with Bryce tonight after I ration you an hour of my time Dean. Whatever." I take down more photos.

"Michael was right. You are jealous of Bryce."

"Maybe."

"Then why didn't you tell him yes when he said he'd tell Bryce he wouldn't hang out with him?"

"Because. I don't need any favors. He either wants to hang out with me, or not."

"Michael does want to hang out with you and I'm sure if you were a little older, he would be picking you over Bryce, but you're too young my babe."

"I’m not a little kid Daddy."

"No, but you're only thirteen. Papa's not going to want you dating anyway."

"How is that fair? You and Papa were dating well before high-school."

"We were not."

"Well, you were doing something."

"And it was all a mistake. We were too young, we don't want you making the same mistakes as we did. We didn't really get together until we were sixteen anyway."

This conversation isn't helping, just making everything worse. "You don't have to worry, Michael doesn't like me that way and he never will."

Daddy sighs. "I'm royally fudging this up, baby boy. I'm sorry. Maybe it's too hard for Daddies to have this conversation with their sons. I'm not subjective enough. Would you feel comfortable talking to Uncle Dally?"

"Maybe Daddy, but, could I just be alone, for tonight?"

Daddy nods. "Okay, sweetheart, but I'm going to worry about you all night. You'll talk to Uncle Dally tomorrow?"

"I will."

**

"Sam? Sam? What's going on?"

He's onto me as soon as I enter the bedroom. Cas looks fudging sexy in nothing, but boxers, reading a book on our bed. I want to eat him, starting from his cock. That will have to wait. "I have to tell you something, but you have to promise not to freak out." When has that ever worked, I know, but it makes me feel better saying it.

He gets his serious 'who will this make me want to kill?' face on. I'm dreading this, but he's going to find out some how, better I break it to him gently. "Dean likes Michael."

"I know that. I wish it wasn't true. I'm tired of that angel showing up invited or not."

"No Cas, I mean _likes_ him, likes him."

"What? No. No. Absolutely not. He's too young." Cas slams his book shut, probably intent on going to speak with Dean right now. "I knew that angel was trouble. I knew it. He probably seduced my innocent angel."

I'm really trying not to laugh, but between Dean's hysterics and Cas's, they're both entertaining. "Thinking of Dean as 'innocent' is about as ridiculous as Dean thinking Michael doesn't think he exists. No one's seducing anyone, Cas."

"They'd better not be."

I roll my eyes at the protective Papa when he's not looking, like I did to Dean when he wasn't looking, too busy taking down pictures of him and Michael that he'll just have to put back up. I'll admit, it was hard not to react when Dean told me, but I kept my cool and then proceeded to go far too Daddy on him. Not that I think there's anything wrong with 'going too Daddy,' but he's teenage-falling apart. I can't help but make sure he's going to follow the rules, instead, he needs someone he can confide in, who can guide him, with maybe a little less of that, but some of that. Hence Uncle Dally to the rescue. Now to convince Cas of that.

"They won't be. Dean knows the rules. Besides, Michael wouldn't dare touch him and I think Dean's right about something, while Michael may be aware of Dean's feelings for him, Michael doesn't 'like-him-like-him-know-Dean-exists.'"

"I need English Samuel, not gibberish."

"Michael doesn't like him that way, he likes Bryce that way. At least enough I'm sure they're doing very eighteen-year-old things together."

Cas's body language relaxes a little bit. "That's very good for the angel's health. I will be speaking to Dean about this in the morning, just to make sure he is familiar with the rules."

Cas takes his responsibility as Head of House very seriously. That is an important job as Head of House: Make sure your brood knows the rules. He's only doing his job, but that job isn't so great for Dean's teenage emotions at the moment. "If you think that's necessary, Cassy."

"I do."

"It's just that, Dean's really broken up over the whole thing. I was reminding him of the rules and he, well he looked so sad."

"'Well he looked so sad,' is not enough for me to not take the proper precautions and to prevent me doing my job Samuel."

"Would you be willing to let him talk to Dal first?" I give him the eyes he can't resist; the ones he huffs about and calls me 'Puppy-eyes McGee' for.

I get my huff. "You clearly think this is important—important enough to manipulate me."

"I do Cassy, then you can go all Father Winchester on him and make sure he keeps it in his pants until College."

"All right. C'mere Puppy Eyes McGee. I want to spank your cute bottom and fuck you into the mattress." He puts the book aside on his nightstand.

"So long as I get to suck your cock on my knees."

"Okay, but you'll have to beg me first—without those damn eyes of yours."

Saturday Morning

"Oh look, no Michael. Darn. Guess he's not doing this after all," I say.

"He'll be here. He said he was running late this morning."

Maybe he likes Daddy. He never text me to tell me he'd be late—and yeah I remember I told him we're not friends, but still. I hope he does _like_ Daddy-like Daddy. Papa will kill him for sure.

Speaking of. "Dean, did you make the appointment I asked you to make?"

Ah, shit-fuck. In all my pouting over Michael, I forgot. "I was planning on making it this morning, Father."

He's not pleased. "See that you do, or the essay you'll be writing me, will end up being a novel."

"Yes, sir."

Daddy brings out a tray of juices and sets three each in front of me, Papa, Uncle Dal and the spot where Michael usually sits. Instead of saying thank you, I glare at them and apparently Papa's on Dean-watch this morning. "Do you need a thinking spanking to put you in a better mood Mister Winchester?" Papa asks.

"No, sir. Thank you Daddy."

"You're welcome, Dean Bean. When Michael gets here I'll explain them all." He runs off to get something else. But over his shoulder he says, "maybe Uncle Dally can take you to get your haircut sweetheart?"

That's Daddy making sure I go with Uncle Dally and talk to him privately. "I'd love to take you half pint. My schedule is clear, apparently I'm here for the weekend, _and_ Monday."

"Thanks Uncle Dal, that'd be great."

Michael finally graces us with his presence. "My apologies. Father kept us all this morning. It was hard enough to send that text and let you know I wouldn't be here 'till now."

"That's okay sweetheart. Take your seat," Daddy says bringing more stuff to the table; steaming hot mugs of bone broth.

He sits beside me; I ignore him. He can be Daddy's friend. "Okay, before you are three juices. The first will address Liver, the second, adrenal, the third spleen then we have bone broth for the gut, which will also fill your tummies. As you know from past years, you are entitled to unlimited juices and bone broth on the cleanse, but nothing else 'till dinner. Drink up."

We all cheers as we drink our first tonic—it's this thing we do. Thankfully, Daddy makes most of them taste good. "Does this one have pineapple in it Sam? It's good."

"Sure does, Cassy. I know it's your favorite. The liver one has some nice beets in it I saved from our winter garden."

"My vote is for the bone broth," Uncle Dally says already having downed his three juices. "You make good juices Sammy, but this is soothing."

"What about you Michael?" Daddy asks.

"I have no preference."

"Oh come on, you must like at least one?"

I see an opportunity to suck up. "I like them all, Daddy. Can you make that strawberry-kiwi juice one I like?"

Daddy smiles. "Of course, Dean Bean."

"Actually, I recall it now. There was that one you made last year with all the grapefruit. I'd love some of that one."

That's my least favorite. "I've got plenty of grapefruits. We'll have lots of that one."

I know one he hates. "Oh and don't forget the celery, kale delight." I'll drink kale just so Michael will have to as well. I fucking hate that shit too though.

"I'm so excited y'all are so excited. I will be making a kale drink, but I've recently learned how much raw kale can down regulate thyroid function, so we'll only be doing a few bitters drinks for digestion, but yes, there will be kale Dean. I'm glad you liked it."

Hey, he's happy, I'm happy. Except Papa's not happy. He's caught onto the two of us. When we're all done, Uncle Dally excuses himself to take a shower and Daddy gets to work cleaning up, Papa stops him. "Oh no Samuel. I let you do all the work last night. Dean, Michael and I are going to take care of this. I want you to go have your shower." That's his I will not be argued with voice.

Daddy kisses Papa, "thank you Cassy," then leaves us with Papa the wolf.

Soon as Daddy's left the general vicinity, he rounds on both of us. His arms are crossed, the sleeves of his white, button down are already rolled up and ready to spank if need be, his brow is frowning, his blue eyes manage to look hot rather than cold. "I have been made aware of your disagreement. If your fighting upsets Sam, I will be very displeased. Sort it out and sort it out by the time I come back. I also expect this kitchen spotless."

"Yes, sir," we both say at the same time. Papa has methods that are far different than Daddy's 'hug it out' philosophy. It's called, the 'don't fuck around and grow-up policy.' The 'do it, or be spanked philosophy.' Papa might not spank Michael, but he will spank me and send Michael home. I wouldn't mind the latter, but I'm not keen on the former.

We both get to work on the kitchen as soon as Papa leaves, grateful he's gone. Michael and I have practically grown up together. We work as a system, even when we're pissed at each other. "How is Bryce?"

"Fine. We attended a film. Then we met up with Bruce and Mandy."

"What the? I thought you didn't like humans Michael."

"I don't."

"It sure as fuck sounds like you do."

"I'm appeasing my father, that is all. I did like a human once, but now that's over. He ended our friendship. Perhaps I will like Bryce now."

"Go ahead. Don't care." We continue to clean the kitchen, all the while hating each other. I don't care. I don't. All I've known is Michael. Devoted all my time to Michael. I can find other friends. I'm good-looking, I'll find someone my own age.

We wash all Daddy's juicer pieces by hand (they are dishwasher safe, but Daddy likes them washed separately) and wipe down the counters. "What do you think he meant by spotless? Should we wipe everything down, like the stove and the cabinets?"

Michael nods. "To be on the safe side." We start wiping everything down. Another thing we've done before. I take the low cupboards; he takes the high cupboards. We're good like that a long while, until he decides he needs to talk again. "You're too young Dean and even if you weren't, I don't look at you that way. You’re a human and I’m your angel. We share a profound bound, always, but we can never be, lovers. That's not what this is."

He's not mean when he says it. His voice is a lot softer than it has been while we've been verbally sparring, but it still shoots me through the heart. I don't want to look stupid though. "I know. I don't look at you that way either."

"Then stop being jealous of Bryce."

"I'm not. In fact, I was thinking we should double date."

"Double date? I thought we were no longer friends?"

"We're not, but we have to fake make-up, or Papa will real spank my ass."

"Why should I? If we're no longer friends, why should I care about you getting a spanking? Maybe you should get one—maybe that'll knock some sense into your thick skull."

"He'll spank me, but he'll banish you. Do you really want to have to suck up to him like you had to the last time?"

"Lucky for you, no."

"Do we have a date then?"

"It's a date, but there's only one problem."

"What's that?"

"You're not allowed to date."

"Minor detail."

"I thought you didn't want a spanking?"

"I'll only get spanked if I get caught. I don't plan on getting caught."

"Isn't that how our schemes usually start? We almost always get caught. It's always been three against two."

"Almost always. We don't _always_ get caught. This one's easy—we're doing a group hang, it's not really a date anyway. I've done it plenty before. More accurately, it's ways to fool around, with no parents around. Made out with Chris Parker behind the bleachers at a school basketball game that way."

Michael's fists tighten. Weird. "Really?"

"Yuh-huh. And Cindy Skylark in a game of Seven Minutes in Heaven at Steve Laroskies birthday party." I hate going to those kind of events. I only go so Daddy doesn't worry.

"Enough. I get it. We're doing a group hang. When?"

"Tomorrow during the day. We'll go to the mall, then be the shady kids that hang out at the park."

"This is a bad idea."

That's when Papa walks back in the room. I grab onto Michael and hug him. He catches on and puts his arms around me. "I don't know why we were even fighting. I love you Michael."

He's squeezing me kind of hard when he says, "no more fighting for us. That was…awful." Michael's really laying it on for Papa.

"Oh good, I'm glad to see you two have made up. See that it stays this way."

"We will Papa." Now to find a date for tomorrow, right after I make that hair appointment.

To Be Continued...


	6. The Only Thing That Exists (2)

Later Saturday

"You sure you shouldn't have got it cut a little more half pint? You're just going to end up here next week."

"He didn't say _how long,_ he just said to cut it."

"And you think now he'll change his mind about technicalities because…?"

And that's how Uncle Dally got me to turn straight around and ask them to take a little more off, sometimes I listen to reason. When it was a length he thought would pass Papa's scrutiny, yet still long enough I felt it would regrow to at least this length in a few weeks, we headed over to the beach with juices Daddy packed special for us with instructions to drink them within a few hours for maximum nutritional benefits. "Look half pint, it's that apple-ginger-carrot one you like," he says passing me a juice.

"I do love it, but I'm starving Uncle Dal."

"Me too," he sighs. "Only fifty-nine more hours to go. Bottoms up."

We clink our bottles together and sip. If you sip, you make it last longer and it feels less like you're starving. "So, I think you have something you want to talk with me about?"

"Daddy told you didn’t he?"

"He didn't tell me what, just that you did and that it was something that he couldn't talk to you about without going 'Daddy,' on you."

I have to take another sip of my juice for courage. "I'm having these feelings for Michael, but it doesn't matter, he doesn't feel the same, Uncle Dal."

"You already talked about it with him?"

"Sorta. He told me he doesn’t see me that way. I'm his profound bond and that's it. And I know, I know, I’m too young, like Daddy said, but I can't stop feeling this way. I felt stupid and denied everything, but I'm pretty sure he didn't believe me anyway."

"Oh half pint. I know how you feel."

"You do?"

"Big time. Your uncle Chris and I, I'll admit, sometimes I wish I didn't feel about him like I do."

"Really?"

"The on again, off again is killing me. It's not in my nature."

I nod.

"But it doesn't take much for me to pull him into my arms again."

"Uncle Chris feels the same way as you do, though. Michael doesn't like me more than his, _profound bound,_ whatever that is."

"My point is, we love who we love, half pint and I relate."

"So what do you do then?"

"I consider myself lucky. Sure there are times I wish it would go away, but overall, I get to be in love—some people never get that."

"Isn't that just a consolation prize, if you can't be with who you love?"

"But I do get to be with who I love. Maybe not in the way I like, but I do get to be with him and you get to be with Michael."

"What if you never get to be with Uncle Chris how you want?"

"I can't wait around forever, but even if it means I marry someone else, Chris and I will always be good friends. I'll love him forever. Can't you do the same with Michael?"

"I guess, but I don't like hearing about him with Dyce."

"Isn't it Bryce?"

"Whatever."

Uncle Dally laughs. "Ah, you're jealous. I get it. I'm not quite so jealous as Winchesters get. I don't like thinking about Chris with other people, I've had my moments, but Chris is the jealous one between us."

"Of course. He's the Winchester, it's in the blood. It must've leaked into me, 'cause I'm the jealous one and Michael doesn't give a rat's bottom."

Uncle Dally finishes his first juice and so do I. He digs into the bag for another one. "More beets. Least I love beets. What I wouldn't give for a burger," he says in that accent of his. Unlike Daddy and Papa, whose accents only seem to thicken when we go back to Texas, Uncle Dally's seems to have survived all the years living with us.

"Me too. I won't tell if you won't."

"Ask me again on Monday, I might be willing, but it's early enough on I'm still saying, that would break Sammy's heart. Can't do it half pint."

"Okay, okay. Cheers." We clink bottles again.

"You're right about that, jealousy is strong in Winchester blood. Not much I can tell you about that—that you'd have to ask your father about."

"And tell him I like Michael? I think I want to live to see my fourteenth birthday thanks."

"You know your daddy already told him, Dean. Sammy tells Cas everything and vice versa. Those two have one brain sometimes. They're not going to keep secrets about you and look, no murders."

"Wow. Then Papa must be okay with it. He hasn't said a word. He always says something, especially if he disagrees."

"I don't know half pint. Sammy really didn't talk to me about it."

"Well I'll talk to him about the whole jealousy thing."

"Did…anything else I said help?"

"It did actually, Uncle Dal. I don't actually want to stop being friends with Michael."

"Like you'd be able to do that."

"I meant it yesterday," I mutter.

"I'm sure you did. You were hurt, I've been there too, but remember Dean, it's not his fault. If he doesn't like you as anymore than a friend, there's nothing he can do about it either. It's not fair to be mad at him for that."

"I know Uncle Dally. I just had to take it out on someone. I'll apologize."

"Thanks half pint."

"I hate all these emotions. Is this what…is this what falling in love is Uncle Dal?" I love Michael, always have, but do I _love_ Michael?

He laughs his amused Uncle Dal laugh. "I can't tell you that sugar donut."

"Well I sure hope I'm not. Then I'd be in real trouble."

"I agree with you on that one."

We finish our second juice. "What's next?"

"Ugh. It's the kale one, should we chug?"

"Definitely."

**

When we get home we head into the kitchen looking for our soup broth—it really does fill you up when you're starving. Daddy's just pulling some off the stove for us and Papa's reading the paper already drinking his. "Thank you Papa!" I say running to him and giving him a big hug.

"What's this all about?" He smiles huge, loving getting hugs from me. "Is this because of my wisdom in suggesting you get your hair cut? It looks good, Kiddo. Still a bit longer than I wanted, but I approve."

I look to Uncle Dal with a silent thank you. If this barely passes, what would he have said about the hair cut I was going to come home with? "Thanks for that too, but no. That's for supporting my liking-liking Michael. It really means a lot to me Papa. I was the most scared to tell you, but you're taking it even better than Daddy did."

Daddy drops a mug. "Oops! Clumsy me. Sorry. Let me just grab a broom for this. I'll have broth for you two in just a second."

Weird. "Anyway, thank you Papa. Love you." I hug him again.

"Well, it's as I always say, you can't help who you like," Papa says squeezing me back.

"You always say that, Clyde, I mean, Castiel Winchester?" Daddy says.

"Always," Papa harrumphs.

"Oh good. I know you hate Michael, Papa. I was worried."

"He's not my favorite person, I will say that."

"Well you don't have to worry, we already talked and he doesn't feel the same about me that I do him—though I may have left the part out about how I feel about him; I think he knows though. It's this unspoken thing." I pull away from Papa and sit at the kitchen table's bench.

"It is?"

"Yeah. Uncle Dally says it's okay to love him as a friend, but there's something I really need to talk to you about."

"What's that?"

"Jealousy. I get jealous of Michael being with that other guy. Like you do Daddy—what do you do about that?"

Papa looks a bit lost for words as Daddy places steaming hot mugs in front of Uncle Dal and I. "Well I, I make it known that Daddy's for me and no one else."

"How do you do that?"

"Yeah Cassy, how do you do that?" Daddy sits down with his own mug and smiles at Papa. Papa scowls at him.

"It's a bit complicated because we're married you see, it's different."

"What about when you weren't married?"

"It was still different," he says victoriously. "I'm sorry kiddo, but the two situations aren't really alike."

"What about that period, where you and Daddy broke up. You were still friends. What did you do then? I bet you were still jealous then." We don't really talk about that time too often in our house, I'm only bringing it up now because we've reached crisis.

"I…it's hot in here," Papa says opening a few buttons of his shirt.

"I'll open the door Cassy."

"Thanks Baby. Like I was saying, yes. I was still jealous. Very much. So I, well we were at this party and I, I talked about him lots to the people who were there, especially with anyone who seemed interested in him."

"Oh. What kind of things did you talk about with people?"

"I stressed our history together; told stories about us together…"

"You practically peed on me Cas."

"Yeah. What he said," Papa grumbles.

I nod thoughtfully. "Okay, gotcha. Michael and I have lots of history together, I can do that." And when that doesn't work, I'll do the other thing I've seen Papa do with Daddy when they think I'm not paying attention. I'll tell Michael who he belongs to whether he wants to date me or not.

"Ah, well you see, Kiddo...it's still hot in here, Sam the window, a little more, please?"

Daddy smiles with mischief behind his eyes, but he does get up to open the door some more. "What I was going to say is, you need permission to begin dating. Daddy and I will have to discuss it."

Dallas clears his throat. "And your uncle Dallas too. You don't need to worry about this kind of stuff yet."

"I know that Papa. Soon as I find someone I wanna date, I'll let you know." So far I haven't wanted to _date_ anyone, 'cept Michael. Dating and making out: Different. 

"Y-you will?"

"Well yeah. Look how good you're being about this Michael thing. I know you and Daddy always say I can come to you with stuff, but I really didn't think I could share this, this is awesome. You guys are so awesome."

**

Dean hugs Cas again and Cas looks at me over his head, eyes bulging. I shouldn't be enjoying this so much, but I am, he has no idea what to do. "That's right, angel. You can come to us with anything."

"Thank you Papa. Speaking of permission, I was hoping to get permission to hang out at the mall tomorrow with Michael and some friends after church."

"I don't see why not. You'll be home in time for Sunday dinner."

"Yes, sir."

"Then, yes."

"Oh boy! Thanks. I'm gonna text Michael right now. Thanks for your help Uncle Dal."

"Hold it Mister, take your soup broth with you," I tell him.

"Oh right. Thanks Daddy." I get a kiss on the cheek too and he takes off, soup mug in hand.

"Oh boy is right. You got played Papa bear," I say.

"I did not. He's doing everything he's supposed to be doing."

"What about his essay on respect?"

"I haven't had a chance to discuss it with him, but he'll write it. In the mean time, good behavior should be rewarded." Yeah. That's not how Cas usually works. We all know it. He's fallen victim to the Dean charm; even Papas aren't one hundred percent immune.

"Oh boy," Dal says, using our new phrase of the day. "I'm sure glad my work for the day is done. I'm going upstairs to work on my music."

When Dal is gone and it's just Cas and I give Cas laughing eyes. "Castiel Winchester, when did you become a pushover?" I lay my accent on thick.

He scowls. "He's been so upset, then he seemed so happy. I couldn't…it's best our conversation stays between us."

I decide not to remind him of last night and what he thought then about doing things based on 'Dean seems so sad.' Sometimes Papa gets to have a soft moment too. "Your secrets are safe with me Cassy."

"I want him to be able to come to us with anything."

"I do too, Cas."

"This conflicts with my plans for having Dean join a Monastery."

"All jokes aside, when are we going to allow him to date—you know that's coming."

"I don't know, Sam. This is all happening too fast. I thought he was tough when he was little, this is so much worse. I don't like the thought of anyone dating my little boy."

"I don't mind the dating part, it's the other stuff I'd rather he wait for." I know Old Dean was promiscuous. I want Dean to wait 'till he finds the someone he wants to marry.

"This is giving me a headache, Sam."

"I say Dean's love life can wait for another day. Come with me, Sugar, I know a good cure for headaches, one I didn't learn from Mama."

SUNDAY

I was able to get a friend from my Hockey team, Dave, to come hang out at the mall with me. He's had his eye on me and has been trying to get me to come over to his house to play PS4. My parents won't buy me one of those, or let me buy myself one with my allowance, you'd think I'd jump at the chance to go over there, but so far I've declined. I've been too wrapped up in Michael, but not today. I'm going to use all the advice I got from my three parents. Maybe I will go to Dave's, play violent video games and drink pasteurized chocolate milk. But dammit, like with Daddy and Papa, Michael's still mine first. He may not want to date me, but he's mine and I'm gonna let fucking Bryce know it. While Michael may not like me-like me, I like him, I, I, I love him. Love him like Uncle Dally loves Uncle Chris and I'm gonna love him anyway, even when I'm married with kids. He's my best friend.

Of course Michael doesn't know I've come to any of these decisions yet. He's still under the impression I hate him. Mostly.

We've been wandering around the mall for an hour. I'm looking for new shoes, Michael wants a new blazer, Dave, more video games and Bryce wants to make googly-eyes at Michael. It's really starting to piss me off. Especially when he grabs Michael's hand and fucking Michael lets him. Show time.

"You wouldn't even need a new blazer in the first place Michael, if you hadn't forgot it up in my tree house," I laugh a laugh that Michael knows is fake. I get a funny look from him.

"Not funny. I only forgot it in the first place because I was concerned about your head. If you hadn't of been horsing around, you wouldn't have fallen and almost concussed yourself and I wouldn't have had to carry you back to the house."

"No, it was funny. You guys should have seen it," I say to Bryce and Dave. "Of course it's the only night it rains and when we went back out to get it, all the Pine-Sol in the world wasn't going to wash out what that squirrel did to it. It was storing nuts in the armpits!"

"So like a tree house? Like a little kid?" Bryce says.

"Hey, don't knock it man. I used to be an adult and I still like having a tree house," I say. I don't add that I don't really remember my "adult" life, but he doesn't need to know that.

"Right. You're one of those Moddlers. What's that like? What were you before this?"

I don't like the way he says 'this.' "Cool. I was a super hero in my other life."

He laughs. "Sure you were kid. Hey Michael, can we get something to eat? I'm starved."

He's asks that to Michael like Michael's in charge of this whole date. "You're starved? We're starved, aren't we Michael? Daddy's got us on this juice cleanse—we can't eat anything. Don't worry, I brought the juice," I say patting the lunch-bag that's slung around my shoulders.

"I don't get it, are you two, like, brothers or something?" Dave asks.

"Ew. No," Michael and I say at the same time then both look at each other surprised by the other's answer.

"Then why is Michael doing the, uh cleanse that your parents are making you do?" Dave asks.

"He's not my brother, but he's still family," I say looking at Michael who smiles at me in a way that makes Bryce furious.

Bryce pulls Michael closer to him. "Whoa. FYI, Michael hates that," I helpfully tell Bryce.

"You do, babe? You never said anything."

"I do hate it. I also hate 'babe.'" _Somehow, I think Michael would let me call him babe._ I don't know where that thought comes from, but I know it's true.

When all of Bryce's manhood deflates, I can't help being satisfied. "Well, I'm hungry too. Do you guys mind if we eat while you, drink your juice?"Dave's a nice guy trying to ease the tension.

"Michael and I don't mind," I say for both of us. Bryce wrinkles his nose.

We get a table in the food court—the smells are driving me wild. Thank fuck there's only a day and a half left of this thing. I think I'm drooling. "Are you okay, Duck?" Michael's face is concerned.

"Yeah, I just need some juice."

"You're not okay with babe, but you call him 'duck?' What's with that?" Bryce says unimpressed.

Michael turns his whole I-am-angel-and-I-will-smote-you look on Bryce. "I think you misunderstand. I like fucking you, but Dean is and always will be my first priority. Is there going to be a problem with that?"

Why didn't I think of just playing the "Damsel in Distress" card with Michael? That would have been so much easier. Inside I'm cheering. My heart soars. I'm the most important thing to Michael, even if we are just friends. "No, uh, um, no."

 _Good answer Bryce._ Michael slowly turns his ahead away from Bryce and back to me. "Start drinking the juice—have mine too if you need them."

"And suffer Daddy's wrath? I don't think so and I don't think you want his wrath either."

"Right. Fuck. Pass me one."

I pull out the first juice and we do the traditional Winchester family clinking of juice bottles before we drink. "High ho Silver, away!" I stole that one from Uncle Dal. He said it last night I liked it, we all laughed. Michael and I laugh now, sharing the private inside joke, before we down what looks like green stew. "Bleh," we both say. "Daddy Winchester's herb blend." Also said in unison.

Dave's watching us with interest. "You guys are a bit strange, but whatever you're into. Hey Bryce, you wanna come with me to find real food?"

"Yeah. We'll be right back," Bryce says, leaning in to kiss Michael's cheek.

Michael waits 'till he's gone to say anything. "That human has become far too clingy. I'm thinking about releasing him."

"You are?"

"Yes. Is there something wrong with your hearing?"

"No, it's just, you seemed to really like him."

"He's a fun fuck, but I think I'm going to take up a new policy. I think T.V. calls it, one night stands."

I pull us out another juice. "Oh thank fuck—this one's got orange in it."

"Quickly, pass it here. I've got to wash the taste of parsley juice out of my vessel."

I hand him the juice, we clink bottles. "Winter is coming," he says.

I laugh. "That makes no sense."

"This juice cleanse makes it feel like Winter."

"I thought you didn't care about juice cleansing?"

"I was lying. I'm strangely craving a burger right now."

We smile at each other and neither of us notices when our fingertips touch across the table, until we hear Dave and Bryce coming back and we suddenly pull apart. "No, no way, dude. You can't remake a classic like that, you just can't," Bryce says, thankfully not paying attention to us.

"Have you even seen the trailer for the new Final Fantasy Seven? It's fucking rad, you'll forget all about your old school version," Dave says. "Cloud is hot and you get to see him interact like he's real or something; hear his voice. What's not to like about that?"

"Maybe."

Each of them slides in, Dave on my side, Bryce on Michael's. Michael and I feel interrupted and irritated by their presence. And they both got fucking burgers. Michael and I stare at them longingly, the burgers now the most interesting features of our 'dates.' "Um, you wanna bite, Dean?" Dave asks.

"Yeah, feel free to dig in Michael," Bryce adds.

"I won't tell if you won't," I say to Michael.

"I'd love some of that burger, Bryce."

I practically rip the burger out of Dave's hand. "Thanks."

"Um, we'll go get more burgers," Bryce says.

"Here," I say offering up some money. "Better get extras."

Michael and I are too busy eating to even talk while they're gone, but after they return and after we all down a few burgers the guilt sets in and it's hard to keep enjoying them. Michael can see it in my eyes, they don't notice anything of course. We both decline third burgers even though our stomachs want them.

We get Michael his blazer and I get to 'mark my territory' more when Michael gets the blazer I complimented him in over the one Bryce did. But we get into a little argument in shoe store. "You're not buying flip-flops," Michael decrees. "Put them back." Of course Bryce and Dave are looking at us funny, but Dave seems to be pretty open-minded, Bryce not so much.

"I don't see the problem with flip-flops," Bryce says.

"The problem, is that he trips all over the place and I can't be fussed about whether or not he's going to fall on his face while I'm out with you. Put them back, Dean."

I glare at him, but put them back before he spanks me—he's got that look about him. I'm not exactly sure he won't at least swat my ass a few times in front of Dave and Bryce. Besides, I'll get Daddy to come back and get them for me. "Here. I quite like these," he says handing me a pair of Converse runners. "They're your style. I think they'll look nice on you."

I ending up liking Michael's choice and get them.

"So, should we carry on to the park to be shady teens?" I say once Dave's found his video game. I was kinda looking forward to that part.

"Actually Dean, Bryce and I are going to go back to my place and play some video games. We decided when we were buying all the burgers."

"Oh."

"You guys can come if you want," Dave adds. "But it doesn't seem like you enjoy video games. You never talk about them and you never seem to want to come to my house to play them."

I look to Michael. I think he'd rather eat glass than play video games. "Um, yeah. We'd better get home anyway."

"Do you live with him?" Bryce asks.

"No," Michael says irritated. He's not going to offer up any more information than that.

"But hey, Dean, even though today was a bit…weird, you're so hot, I don't care. I'd like to do this again. Well, not exactly this, but you know, me and you, a real date."

You know? I think I'd like to. I did what I was supposed to do with Michael—Bryce knows he's mine whether Michael stays with him or not and if he doesn't even better! I can't pine for him, so I might as well go hang out at Dave's and play video games. I'm about to answer, when Michael beats me to it. "His parents don't allow him to date. C'mon Dean. Let's go."

I shrug at Dave as Michael drags me off by the hand. "Hey, what gives?" I say when we're exiting the mall. I'm not exactly sure where we're going. Tom dropped us off, but now we're walking.

"Whatever are you talking about?"

"Back there and the not dating thing."

"I merely stated a fact." He keeps walking.

I follow him until we're well away from the mall and headed for the park. It's a twenty minute walk from the mall to the park, which we do in silence and when we get there, we're both fuming. "Michael, what happened back there?"

"I don't, I don't know."

"It was fucked up."

"Agreed."

I sit at a picnic table and pull out another juice, even though I'm finally full for the first time, in a day. "We couldn't last, what's our story?"

"No story. Just be cool. Daddy Winchester will never find out if we don't say anything."

Right, like that's ever worked. I pass Michael a juice, we do our 'cheers' thing and sit and drink and calm the fuck down. Now that it's just us we can relax. I put a hand in the pocket of my hoodie, slouch and drink my juice. "Did you mean what you said back there?"

"About the flip-flops? Every word."

"No. About me coming first."

"Of course I meant it."

"If you meant it then…wanna be my best friend again?"

"We are always best friends."

"I said you weren't though, I said a lot of mean things; I'm sorry though. I was a dick. It's not your fault you don't like me-like me. It's not right for me to be mad at you for that Michael. Uncle Dally helped me see that."

More silence. We drink our juice. "I'm sorry too," he says. "And you should know that even though I have completely 'friend-like' feelings for you…you understand that, right?"

"Yeah, I get that Michael."

"Right, so even though I only have completely friend-like feelings for you, I did not like that miscreant's hands on you."

That makes me blush. "What? That doesn't make any sense."

"It makes perfect sense. You're my profound bound—I think you have yet to discover what that means. My job is to protect you. I don't know this, _Dave,_ I don't trust him."

We finish our third juice and call Tom. He brings us back to the house. "Daddy! We're home."

"In here Dean Bean. You and Michael want to help with dinner?"

Thank God the cleanse includes dinner. It's a very light meal though, white fish, salad, yams, but Daddy-made. He knows how to make everything taste good, except Papa's special oatmeal.

"Unless Michael's opting out? This isn't part of the cleanse sweetheart. You're not obligated to stay for Sunday dinner."

"I'd like to stay, sir," Michael says.

Uncle Dally and Papa are in bad moods on account of starving all day. I think that's what gives Daddy the tip-off; I knew we needed _something_ in our plan other than 'be cool.' "You two ate," Daddy accuses. "Didn't you?"

"I, I, I..." I bite my lip.

"Don't even think about lying to me, Dean Winchester." 

How does he always know? "Yeah. Burgers at the mall."

"Dean Daniel, Michael Godfrey, how could you?"

"Sorry, Daddy. We were starving."

"I get how you knew he ate, but how did you know I ate? It's not like not-eating makes me cranky."

"Because what he does, you do and vice versa."

I don't like the look on Daddy's face. Sure he's angry, but he's mostly hurt, which means if I don't turn on the charm fast, Papa's going to do some Papaing. "Good news though, all the great advice from everyone helped—we're back to being our usual mischievous-selves, I thought you'd be happy."

"Did you have to use your mischief to ruin the cleanse?" Daddy's cross now, but not hurt or angry. There's a difference. With Daddy's upset dying down, Papa allows himself to be amused.

"I came close," he admits.

"Cas!"

"Earlier, when you were outside, the fridge was unguarded and oh so tempting. I didn't though."

"Okay, since we're admittin' I had a coffee."

"Dallas Ethan," Daddy says.

"I'm sorry, Sammy. They ate burgers."

"But we didn't enjoy them," I say. "They were burgers riddled with guilt."

"You sure seemed to be enjoying them," Michael says.

"Well, while everyone else was cheating, I stuck to it—" Papa says, Daddy cuts him off.

"Only because I was outside."

"As I was saying. Will someone say grace so we can eat?"

After dinner, Michael and I suck up by offering to clean up. We're still in Daddy's bad books, but we're not in any real trouble. We all make a Winchester family pledge that we'll make it through the final twenty-four hours even if it kills us.

Michael and I head out to the tree house and sit on its balcony and wait for the sun to go down. Our legs hang over the edge in the way that still makes Daddy nervous even though this tree house was built (mostly) to code and has sturdy railings. But we're able to straddle those railings and lean against them in companionable silence. Until Michael spazzes.

"Dammit Dean! You're not supposed to be so grown-up about this. You're supposed to continue to throw a big fit and pretend to hate me."

"I got the feeling you sorta hated it when I was pretending to hate you."

"I did, but I honestly don't know which is worse. As I was saying, this is not the reaction I expected. I'm so fucking human now, the feeling, the _pain_ is eating me alive."

"You're confusing the fuck out of me Michael."

"Welcome to the club." Michael snakes his hand over to mine, laces his fingers with mine and squeezes. Not highly unusual. We used to hold hands lots when I was a kid, when we were kids, but we don't do it so much now. Everything feels really intense, my heart beat's going to kill me. Michael's…pretty. He'd hate it if I said that. Don't tell him I said that, but he is. Long fluttery lashes, twinkling blue eyes, smooth, creamy skin. He's also masculine with his strong jaw and hard lines, but mostly he's pretty. It makes my dick hard. Fuck. How do I make _that_ part stop? My parents are pretty open, I learned over the course of this weekend, but I don't think they're _that_ open. Papa will send me to a Monastery for sure. I have to work to control my breathing and hope Michael doesn't catch on.

"There's no confusion, we're friends. That's it," he says as if he's only just re-decided that himself.

"Yeah I know Michael, you've already made that clear.

"Good."

"Why are you holding my hand like that?"

"Friends can't hold hands?"

"Not usually." That and it's sending all the wrong signals. To my horny, teenage, dick.

"Fine, you humans are so weird with all your little rules." He pulls his hand away. More silence.

"Michael, are you pouting?"

"No, I'm just, worried about you."

"Worried about me? I told you I'm fine with it." I'm starting to wonder if he really is.

**

I don't want him to be fine with it. I want him make a fuss over it like he was before. Did he stop being attracted to me? Just because I can't have feelings like that for him, it doesn't mean I don't. Just because I'm never going to tell him or do anything about it, doesn't mean, okay, you get the idea. But what to do now? I know that human saying, you can't have your cake and eat it too, but whoever settles for that? Every human I've come across wants their cake and to eat it too. When they think they have, they gloat about it.

Now Dean's 'fine with it.' Eventually, he'll date Dave. I already had to listen to him tell me about his random make-out sessions, next I'll be hearing about him and Dave. Somehow, I have to get used to it.

"Am I…am I at least attractive, Michael? Like, do you think I'm hot?"

"You are beautiful."

He blushes. "Better looking than Bryce?"

"You are the most beautiful human I've ever seen."

"Ugh. Why does that feel like when Daddy tells me I'm the smartest? I guess you would think I'm the most beautiful, since I'm your profound bound. Guess that's how that hoo doo magic works."

"Hoo doo? Where did you learn that from?"

He shrugs. "Dunno."

"It's not _hoo doo_ magic, though I guess there is an element of bias."

"I think I'm going to change your mind though. I think you'll fall in love with me one day."

"I already do."

"You do what? You haven't said it in a long while."

"Don't be stupid. I shouldn't have to say it. You know."

"Say it." His green eyes are dark. Determined. If I don't say it there will be consequences. We'll fight, again, he'll cry, I'll feel like shit and have to Pine-Sol all the floors in the manor. Though, either way, I think I'm going to need Pine-Sol to soothe my nerves after this one.

It's the most natural thing in the world, I reach my hand to his face and cup his cheek with my palm. He holds my arm with both hands, pressing it into him, like he's afraid I'll take it away. "I love you, my duckling."

I know this is the part where we're supposed to kiss, but I can't kiss him. He acts like I have. "Wow, Michael."

I pull him toward me and we cuddle like we always do. _Very plutonic, very innocent cuddling._ He leans in and rests his head on my shoulder. He sighs, contented. I laugh.

"What?" he says defensively.

"You practically peed on me at the mall."

"So? You're mine Michael. Get used to it." He turns to face me and something's got hold of him. He's Dean, but he's somebody else too, or maybe somebody old. Suddenly, it's like there are lines on his face that depict age and wear and tear of the soul. Somebody whose been beaten down, who's had everything taken from him and will not let it fucking happen again. "Fuck who you want, date who you want, hell, believe you're doin' what you want, but you're not, you're doin' what I want. You come home to me. You belong to me."

The hard, weathered eyes are piercing and violent. Not to be fucked with. It's like Old Dean coming back from the grave to tell me that if I hurt this Dean, he'll personally return just to end me. This Dean gets a good life. This Dean gets what he didn't get. This Dean is his shot at happiness.

"I know, Duck," I say pulling him into me again, stroke my free hand through this hair to calm him.

"Mine, Michael. I fucking mean it, or God help you."

Sometimes, my human makes me shiver and I love that about him too. "Stop it. You know I belong to you. You're the only thing that exists."


	7. Dallas Colt: Uncle, Top, All Around Amazing Guy (1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a "little" story for Ibelieve333. (Where have we heard this before?) What was supposed to be about 5K is now 15K and counting. I've decided it was time to break it up. I'll post 2 chapters now and hopefully the rest over the next couple days. 
> 
> I'm really excited about this TS for a few reasons, but one is we finally get to see Godly Play! Long, long ago, SKL helped Mock, giving her much information for a some stuff that has yet to be written for GUW. Poor SKL has to wait so long, but here it is. I hope I did okay. Note: It may not be an accurate depiction of GP. Anything I've messed up, I messed up alone. SKL would have done a much better job. Thank you SKL
> 
> Now to the dedication. There are many of you out there I want to write things for and I'm slowly getting to all of you, one of those people is Ibelieve333. She's been waiting a long time for this. She's been around since I began posting and has been here for ol' Mock through thick and thin. I'm so grateful for her. She's been a Dally fan before Chally and she kindly stepped aside so Chris could have him. We all need to thank her for that.

"This is the song that never ends! It goes on and on my friends! Some people started singing it not knowing what it was! and they'll continue singing it forever just because…!"

"Dean, could you please sing that a little quieter? Papa's trying to get a little work done. Pala. Quiet." The dog follows Dean everywhere and I swear she's trying to sing in time with him.

"Sure Papa. This is the song that never ends…" 

Dean continues to sing, but quieter and Lord forgive me, I'm counting down the minutes to when we leave. Sam and I are going on a little trip. It's our first time away for this long without Dean. A belated anniversary trip. As usual, I'm cool and confident about our trip and Sam is a basket case. I offered to watch Dean, so he could leave and get done some things he needed to do that were easier sans Dean.

I work so much these days. I hate to tell him to stop his song completely, but it's grating. "Who taught you that song, Kiddo?"

"From a show I like watching Papa. You like it?"

No. It's the most irritating song in existence. "You sing very nicely, Dean," I say and hope he doesn't notice I haven't mentioned the song.

"Thanks. I'm pretty good, like I am most things. It's a funny song because it goes on and on _forever._ "

"I observed that."

"Papa, you gonna play with me yet? I've been waiting and waiting."

"Yep. If you give Papa just thirty more minutes, I'm all yours." I hate to admit it, but we could have used the angel today. Dallas flies home today from visiting Christian in Texas and it seems every one of our friends are busy, not that Dean would enjoy going over to any of their houses. _There is the fact that the angel does keep him from serious harm and entertains him._ "Where's Michael today?"

"Daddy told you Papa. He hasta do something for his papa and you can call him at…I forget what time Papa, sorry."

I hate having to call the angel. I can do this. "That's okay, Dean. I can call Daddy."

Just as I decide that, Dean decides to start running around my office like he's an airplane, climbing up on furniture and making a ton of racket. Pala's riled up; barking at Dean and jumping at him. "Dean. Off the furniture, now. Good Lord, this isn't a barn."

"But I'm an airplane Papa. I have to get higher than the ground."

I'm never going to get work done. I stand up and Dean's off the furniture in a second. "Okay, I'll be a car, Papa. Cars drive on the ground."

I give him a look that makes the little boy cow some. "I know a little boy who's going to get a spanking if he doesn't stop climbing on the furniture. C'mon girl," I say to Pala. "Out."

"Papa. You can't leave Pala by herself."

"Papa needs to get work done."

"Then I'm waiting outside with her."

"You're not. You're staying right where I can see you."

Tears. It's tears immediately. I continue to shoo Pala out of the door and shut it, then pick up the crying boy. He cuddles in and cries into my shoulder. Pala whines outside the door. I sit back down at my desk, boy in my lap and finish reading the last document I have to read over and sign. After a little bit, he comes out of my shoulder, interested. He can soothe himself sometimes, without that dang soother. "What do you have to do, Papa?"

"Well, I have to give my opinion."

"Oh, you're real good at that. No wonder you work all the time, they must always want your 'pinion."

He's not doing it on purpose, but the guilt creeps in; I do spend a lot of time away; it's a lot of time missing him and Sam—I really wish I could be with them more. After our anniversary trip, I'm planning a family trip. "Here, you want me to read you this last bit? Maybe I can get _your_ opinion?"

He looks up at me with little boy awe and adoration. Sam is always telling me how much Dean admires me. Keeps saying I'm his hero despite me being very strict with him. I see that adoration now, like he's thinking, _wow, Papa wants my opinion?_

I read out the long and boring paragraph one of my employees wrote about why we need to keep a particular rifle. We've already gone over it at a board meeting, but I make the final decision. Signing this will make it so. "So, what do you think?"

"I think the benefits long-range sound invaluable to Winchester, Papa. "

I blink at Dean, trying not to freak out, but I'm unsuccessful. He does stuff like that every once in a while. Every once in a long while that is. I am unprepared this time and my face gives it away. Dean immediately breaks into another round of tears. I feel rotten. He was excited about getting Papa time and so far, he's cried twice. "I-I'm sorry P-Pa-Papa."

I wipe at his tears with my thumb. "Nothing to be sorry for angel. Thank you for your opinion. You know what? I'm going to go with your advice. It's good advice."

"You are?"

"I am."

His eyes shine with happy disbelief. I bend over the papers and add my signature quickly. "There. Done. You want to go outside and be airplanes with Papa?"

"Y-y-yeah. And Pala can come too?"

"Pala can come too."

~~~~~~

Sam comes into the kitchen at the same time we do looking overrun. "Baby, you need to take five."

"I will Cassy, I just need to—"

"Sit. I'll take those." He sits as his little boy runs and jumps into his lap.

"Daddy, guess what? Me and Papa played airplanes and I helped Papa get his work done."

"You did?"

I can see Dean nodding frantically as I put the bags on the counter. Pala saunters up to Sam and barks needing a head pat, which Sam obliges, leaning forward with Dean. Dean giggles. "What's in all these bags Sam?"

"Just stuff I think Dean is going to need and some stuff for our trip."

There is very little Dean _needs_ at this moment in time. I don't even want to look. I know Sam needed to do it, so I let him. He's feeling guilty about leaving our boy. Dean doesn’t help. "Daddy, I don't want you to go 'way." Dean snuggles in, Sam's eyes glisten with tears; I have to refrain from rolling my eyes. They're dramatic, the pair of them and they feed off each other. I can't allow them to continue like this.

Sam's eyes plead at me and I know what they're saying, exactly what he's already said a few nights before bed. _Do we really need to go to Maui Cas?_ and _Dean would love it there. Let's bring Dean._ As much as I wanted to give in, I feel this trip alone is important for us. Dean is the very axis on which our life pivots. We tend to be consumed by him. All fine and good most of the time, but if we don't take the time to reconnect, just the two of us, we won't be as strong for Dean. So see? essentially this trip away from Dean is still _for_ Dean as much as it is us. Something I've had to explain to Sam several times now, the frequency with which has increased, exponentially proportional to the closer we get to departing.

"No Samuel. That conversation is closed." It's clearly time to spank someone today, (I should check my calendar) that someone just may be Sam. "Dean, I thought you were telling me only moments ago, how you and your uncle Dallas were going to make blanket forts and sleep in them, because Papa wouldn't be here to stop you?'

Dean giggles.

"Why don't you tell Daddy about that?"

This is when the angel appears, sliding through my kitchen's glass door. _Where was he earlier when he would have been useful?_

Dean scrambles to get off Daddy's lap, for once Sam looks disappointed to be abandoned for the angel. "Michael! Michael!" He collides with Michael's leg, hugging it and the teen-like angel picks him up.

"Hello my duck."

"Michael, I'm gonna build a big blanket fort with Uncle Dally!"

Even though he was supposed to tell Sam that, Sam can't help smiling at his sweet, little-boy exuberance. "You think so, do you? I've been in those catastrophes. I'll be overseeing the construction of these _blanket forts._ "

Sam looks like he's T-minus ten to tears, likely envisioning his boy, all grown up and off to college already. "Michael, if you would take Dean into the living room to play, I would appreciate it." I can be kind to the angel. On occasion.

"Yes, sir."

"Come Samuel."

Sam does get up and come to me, but he's pouting and dragging his feet. "He doesn't even care we're leaving Cas."

Do I really have to say it? "He _just_ told you he didn’t want you to go."

"Then he changed his mind." Sam crosses his arms. I turn abruptly.

"Follow me."

"Oh Cas, I don't need to be spanked," he says, but he's following.

"Do you decide that?"

"No, sir."

"I'll decide what you need or don't need."

I open the door of our bedroom and signal that he should precede me. He does and I shut the door behind us. "Take off your pants please and bring me the hairbrush." Sam needs to get out of this head. You've seen it before—Sam goes into nurturer-hyper-drive and get stuck in a loop, like me in one of those damn round-a-bouts they keep installing in roadways. Spanking helps Sam let go. But because Sam has a particularity high pain threshold, I usually have to make it a pretty good spanking.

Sam returns with the requested items, sans pants leaving him it just his SAXX, white tank top and short-sleeved flannel. "Bend over and grab your ankles, Baby."

"Cas—ow!"

I give his boxer-clad backside a decent whack. He bites his lips defiantly, but he bends over. When he's in position, I drag his boxers down to the ankles he's holding, push his shirts out of the way and let him stay there a moment. This is our punishment position, chosen together; it's Sam's least favorite position. This isn't a punishment (Sam knows) but it's the fastest way to get him to focus. With a little one downstairs that could want one of us at any moment, time is of the essence. I use my hand to lay down smacks, hard ones that challenge his balance and he can't help it, the humiliation of it has his cock half hard. He grunts and groans and I ensure each spank makes a definite slapping sound. I don't let up until his ass is as red as I want it and I hear him start to whimper a little. Then I ask him to stand up and step out of his boxers.

His eyes are wet, but he's not _crying_ yet. I pick up the brush, sit on the bed and guide him over my knee this time. I rub the back of the brush on his hot bottom. "Dean's going to be fine with your brother, Baby."

"I know, Cas, but do we have to go so far and for so long? A week is a long time."

"Yes we do, Baby." I know you think I'm mean, but it's my job to do what's _right_ for Sam and that doesn't always mean the thing he _wants._ "Dean's gonna have a great time with Uncle Dallas." I use the brush for a few sharp swats.

"I know Cas. I don't know what my problem is."

I don't want him to stress over it anymore. I begin spanking him in earnest, further reddening his already red ass. Because Sam has become an expert at taking pain, he doesn't kick like he used to unless I go really deep with the pain, but he does flinch when I get near his threshold and place a few swats to his sensitive thigh area. I keep him at that threshold and let him cry, cry, cry. When I think he's had enough, I pull sobbing Sam up to the bed and cuddle him while he cries some more. If it wasn't so sad, I'd laugh. All this because of a trip to Maui. It's all the more reason why we need this. _What's he going to do when Dean goes off to college?_

"Thanks Cassy. I feel better," he sniffles. "I don't know why I get this way about Dean. It's not like I haven't raised a million other kids."

I chuckle. "Because it's Dean. Not only is he ours and that alone is a big enough reason, he tends to have a particular affect on people. One that makes the afflicted temporarily insane, which is the reason I was pretending I was an airplane in public." Sam and I don't feel the need to have 'bodyguards' around anymore. We were paranoid when we first brought Dean home, ultra-crazy paranoid, but neither one of us liked having someone watching our every move. And we realized that we were being ultra-crazy paranoid.

Sam laughs. "At least I'm not the only one."

"You're definitely not, Baby."

We get several more minutes of after-spanking-cuddle-time, until we hear two loud voices yelling at each other in the hallway. I quickly cover Sam with a blanket, just before Dean bursts in. Naked in our house is not a big deal; we are all men after all and safe family members, but right now feels _private,_ even though there was no sex involved. Dean knows his daddy gets spanked, we've never kept that secret, but I don't spank Sam in front of Dean, well not a full-on spanking; nothing more than a swat or two. He runs to me. "Papa, Papa! Tell Michael I can to play with the pots and pans."

"He's making a huge mess!"

"Oh, hi Daddy. You having a nap?" As Dean cuddles on my lap, he notices his daddy, haphazardly covered by blankets.

I doubt Michael believes Sam's napping, but he doesn't mention it, too involved in yet another Michael and Dean argument. "That's right, Daddy's having a nap and he'll come down soon. You two come with me and we'll sort this out."

"Wait. Papa, I need to have my soother."

We've been trying really hard to break him of his soother. Sam is immediately jumping to Dean's request, reaching for one of the five 'spare' soothers Sam has in his bedside drawer for just such an occurrence, that clearly Dean _knows_ are there, while I try to dissuade him. "Dean remember what Papa says? Those are only for bedtime and when you take an afternoon snooze."

He doesn't nap regularly anymore, but on occasion, he gets tired and we've put him down for a sleep. "But I want it. Please, Papa." He bats up at me with this adorable set of green Dean eyes and I've got Sam looking at me with his own.

They are hard to resist, but I'm what they need, over what they want sometimes; this is one of those times. Dean will thank me when he doesn't show up to his first day at school with a soother between his lips. Sam will too.

"Papa says no Mr. 'Chester." I stand up and set him on his feet. Dean's displeased. His fists ball like Sam's do when he wants to talk back, but he knows what Papa says goes. "We'll see you in a few minutes Daddy," I say to Sam, so he can have some time to himself and wash his face. "C'mon you two. Papa does say you can play with the pots."

**

They're leaving me for seven whole days. It's bad enough when Papa leaves and now they're taking Daddy too? This is fucking unfair. I mean, I am excited to hang with Uncle Dal, but I want my daddies here too. I'm on the stairs by the entryway, staring at their suitcases, hugging Tigger to me. I don't hang out with him as much as I used to, but at times like this, you need an old pal.

"Psst."

I look around. There's no one here but me and the suitcases…and Tigger. Tigs doesn't talk to me as often as he used to. I don't know why. I get excited when he does. "Tigger, is that you?"

"Yeah, pal. It's me."

"Oh! I'm so glad." I squeeze him tight. "You came back."

"Yep. Special edition. Limited time if you feel me."

"You hafta go again." Like fucking Mary Poppins. I get it. I've seen that movie.

"Yeah. Reception's not so good. But look, I came to tell you something I thought might cheer you up."

I'm listening, all fucking ears.

"When the cat's away, the mice get to play."

"What's that mean, Tigger?"

"It means, with your parents gone, you'll get away with shit your parents don't normally let you get away with."

Does he forget I'm staying with my uncle Dally? Sure he's a lot less strict than Papa, but I get away with more from Daddy than Uncle Dally. "Oh sure, you'll have to follow most of the rules, but he can be persuaded into some things your parents can't. And I'd bank on the fact that he'll feel sorry for you for your parents being away. You can really cash in on that."

Holy fuck. It's like Tigger can read my mind. "Like what kinda things?"

"Like extra stories at bedtime. You know you can talk him into extra. I've seen you do it before."

Oh yeah, guess I have done that. "What else?"

"Ice cream from Ice Cream World."

Daddy doesn't like that kind of ice cream—too much high fructose corn syrup. I think I'm the only five-year-old who knows how to use that in a sentence. "Hmmmm, I think you're right."

Someone sits down next to me and I know right away, it's Uncle Dally. I lean into him, the feeling of his rough jeans presses against the spot on my belly where my shirt rides up, my face cozies into his soft, cotton button-up shirt. "Hey half pint. Who you talking to?"

"Tigger."

"Yeah? What's Tigger got to say?"

"That we're going to have fun together."

"Then Tigger's a smart guy. We're going to have a lot of fun."

"Papa comes down the stairs like a whirlwind and looks a bit irritated that we're blocking the steps, but he dodges around us. He's not wearing his usual attire and he's got his sunglasses on his head. He's still dressed nice, in a deep blue, short-sleeved button-up and dress shorts. He slides into his sandals. "C'mon Samuel. We're going to be late."

"Daddy's large form comes down the stairs shortly after Papa, Uncle Dal lifts me and Tigger to him and we get out of his way, like we should have done for Papa. He's dressed for sunshine too (which we have plenty of here) but he's got his fun board shorts on and a white tank-top under his button-up. His eyes look a little puffy. "Aww, Sammy. He's gonna be fine. Don't you have any faith in me?"

"Yeah, I do. C'mere Dean Bean." I go to Daddy easily and give him a big squeeze. "I love you sweetheart. We'll be home before you know it."

"Kay, Daddy." He kisses me a whole bunch of times, then hands me off to Papa.

"We'll call you every day Kiddo. Make sure and be a good boy for your uncle Dallas, got it?"

"I will Papa."

He kisses my forehead and hands me back to Uncle Dally; I curl in. "Chef Andrew will be here, in and out all week. All you have to make him is breakfast, oh and make sure to pack him a snack for Godly Play," Daddy tells Uncle Dal. He does not approve of their version of feast.

Uncle Dally laughs. "We'll be fine Sammy. Got it covered. Done it plenty of times and with no personal chefs to speak of."

"O-okay," Daddy says with a hitched breath. "I know you'll take good care of him."

Papa pops the handle of his suitcase up and grabs Daddy's hand. "C'mon Baby." He looks like he's being dragged off to get a spanking by that look in his face instead of to a fun adult place little boy apparently can't go to.

We follow them outside into the warm sunshine and wave to them as they load themselves and their bags into the car. "Love you both! See y'all in seven days," Daddy says from the passenger-side window. Then they're gone.

**

"You finished with your breakfast, half pint?" I thought we could go down to the beach today."

"Okay, Uncle Dally," he says without his usual enthusiasm.

"C'mon, you're killing me kid."

Dean normally gobbles up his food. _Are you finished…?_ is not a question he needs to be asked unless we're talking Cas's 'special' oatmeal. He's hardly touched his eggs. Even his juice (fresh squeezed) is sitting in the glass, separating. I hate seeing him like this. He's even pulled out Tigger. I don't see Tigger around as often anymore, he usually sits on Dean's bed, waiting to be snuggled with at night.

Even Pala's affected by her boy's mood. She tried a few barks, basically the dog version of a lecture telling him to snap out of it, but when he wouldn't, she put her head down on her paws and laid down by his feet, joining him in misery.

"Uncle Dally?" he says in a tiny, wavery voice.

"Yeah pumpkin?"

He thrusts his arms out toward me. "Can I, can I have my soother, please?"

Aw jeez. I know the rules. He's only supposed to have that thing at bedtime. Cas would kill me. But it seems like it's been days since I've seen a smile on that face of his. In actuality, it's been exactly thirty minutes, but I already can't stand another minute. If it were for any other reason, I'd be stern. I've _been_ stern. Dean knows I lay down the law pretty good. _C'mon Dallas Ethan, buck up._ "Half pint," I say pulling him out of his chair and to me, "those are for sleeping time only."

He takes a breath, one of those shuddery, 'trying not to cry' breaths, as he puts his head on my shoulder. "O-okay."

I rock him back and forth and he sticks his thumb in his mouth anyway, which gets me to thinking. This is a bit, unprecedented and if he's just going to stick his thumb in his mouth anyway … Besides, I'm sure he'll be over this by dinner and won't need it. I move over to the drawer where I know Sam has some old soothers of Dean's. "Okay, half pint. but just for a little bit, okay?"

He looks up at me like he can't believe it, eyes lighting up with a smile. That makes me feel so good, I hardly care about both why I shouldn't be giving it in the first place and the lecture I'm likely to get from Cas when he inevitably finds out. He takes the soother and stuffs it in this mouth. I wipe the silent tears away with my thumb. "You think you can play with Pala and Tigger for a bit while I clean up this mess?"

He nods. His special Dean excitement coursing through him again.

"Okay. Then we'll go out and have a good time at the beach. Hey, maybe we'll get an ice cream from Ice Cream World too. Just a small one mind, your daddy doesn’t like that place, but one time won't hurt nothing."

Dean looks over to Tigger. _Oh right, silly me. I forgot him._ I return to scoop Tigger up and Pala, noticing her boy's more up beat demeanor, gets excited too and follows us upstairs to get him ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tigs is back! I love hearing "Tigger-theroy." Is he a possessed stuffie? Has he just been brought to life by the active, imaginary mind of a child, like Hobbes? One of my personal faves from a reader was this: "I like to think of him as the bit of Old Dean that's left, coming to life as Tigger." That's not a direct quote, but it was something like that and I really liked it. Any other Tigger-theory out there? Or do you agree with one of these?


	8. Dallas Colt: Uncle, Top, All Around Amazing Guy (2)

I can't fucking believe it. Tigger called everything. At first I wasn't even trying. When I asked for my soother, I forgot I'm not supposed to have it. It's still a pretty new bullshit rule. But Uncle Dally came up with the ice cream thing on his own and before bedtime, he read me two stories instead of just the usual one. Tonight I'm going for three. This morning at breakfast, he made a wimpy attempt to take it from me and bit his lip as he finally conceded saying, "you can have it for your Godly Play class, but then it's gotta go away. Got it?"

That's what he said and I nodded sweetly. We were all good. Of course fucking Michael has something to say about it. Asshole. He _conveniently_ volunteers at my Godly Play class. I don't know how he got anyone to allow him to work with children, but he did. He's what's known as the 'greeter,' in which he takes very seriously. He says hi to each kid and asks them if they're ready to join. He acts more like a fucking bouncer though if you ask me. He once asked a child for ID because he "looked too young" to be here. He's made me use the "get ready mirror" more than once; Miss Caulfield never uses that thing. She's cool and super nice.

When I first began coming, I didn't want to fucking come. Michael was a douche. I spent a lot of time sitting with him "getting ready." Miss Caulfield _adores_ Michael. He's the biggest suck up you've ever seen with her. I know it's mostly so she'll let him do what he wants, but I also suspect he kinda likes her. The only reason he's really here, as you can guess, is to watch over me. "What is that?" he accuses Uncle Dally when I approach the door to the classroom, ignoring for the moment the return of soother.

Uncle Dally's face turns the color of a tomato. He's embarrassed. He bites his lip—he's going to chew that thing off if he keeps doing that. "He's missing Sammy and Cas. It's just for class, we agreed, didn't we half pint?" Uncle Dally helps me take my backpack off and hangs it on a hook, which is just inside the door.

"You're negotiating with the five-year-old? Take it from me, that never ends well."

Uncle Dally winces. "Yeah. I know, but you should have seen him, he's really not doing very well and—"

"And he's pulled that dirty, mangy cat out. No. _No._ He's trouble. Every time he and that thing team up, it's trouble."

Uncle Dally laughs. "You bought him that thing."

"Biggest mistake, ever."

He rolls his eyes. "It's only a stuffed animal, Michael."

"Is it?"

"Yeah, it is."

 _No he's fucking not!_ I suck firmly on my soother.

"Well Miss Caulfield is never going to allow that in the circle. No toys from home allowed. He's going to have to be left in the safekeeping basket."

Michael's such a stupid rule follower. I scowl at him and squeeze Tigger to me.

"I was gonna talk to her about it, Michael."

"First you have to get by me," Michael says in full bouncer mode, crossing his arms. "I say Dean's not ready to enter. That means he stays here with me."

No fucking way. I'm not sitting here with grouchy Michael. I press against Uncle Dally's pant leg.

Thankfully it's Uncle Dally to the rescue. "Michael, that's not how it works and you know it."

"Fine." Somehow, Michael's able to cross his skinny, teenage arms tighter. "Dean, are you ready to enter?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry? I can't understand you with that thing in your mouth, you'll have to leave that in the basket too."

"Michael," Uncle Dally warns.

He huffs, but grabs my hand. "Welcome." _How come I don't feel fucking welcome?_ He selects a square of carpet for me and Uncle Dally comes with us to the circle.

"Welcome, Dean," Miss Caulfield says. She notices Uncle Dal and she's looking at him funny. "Hello Dallas. Sam mentioned you'd be dropping him off today." They've met before. Miss Caulfield is always really friendly to Uncle Dally. He sang for the class one day. I think that's why.

"Yes. About that. He's not doing so good with his parents away, so he brought his pal Tigger along. I know the rules, but I was hoping, if you wouldn't mind too much ma'am…"

"Oh Dallas, it's no trouble at all. I sometimes let the children have a friendly-buddy, so long as the friendly-buddy behaves himself," she says looking at Tigger and waggling her finger.

Tigger winks at her. Of course he's going to behave himself. Sure Tigger used to get in trouble sometimes when I was littler, but he's much better behaved now.

Uncle Dally crouches down low. "Okay half pint, I'm just going to be out there listening to the grown-up story about God. You'll be okay with Michael here won't you?"

Normally, yes, but he's being a dickhead today. I still nod. He runs a hand through my hair. "Aw sugar," he says mistaking my displeasure at Michael for upset over my daddies gone away and plants a kiss on my forehead. "Uncle Dal keeps strikin' out."

"I'm sure that's not true, Dallas," Miss Caulfield says. "I'm sure once I give him back to you, he'll be right as rain."

"Thank you, ma'am." He nods his head like he does when he tips his hat, which he's holding, instead of wearing, because it's church.

"You can call me Abigail, Dallas."

See? I think she wants to be special friends with Uncle Dally. Michael huffs. "I'm going back to finish my duties, but I shall be keeping an eye out for Dean," he informs Dal.

**

When Michael's done his 'greeter-person' job, he decides to make himself comfortable in the circle, squishing in right next to me. I've been asked to put my worship center, right beside Miss Caulfield, which is complete bullshit if you ask me. She's trying to make special friends with my uncle Dally, so she's keeping a closer eye on me, probably thinking I'm going to fall apart. Jeez. It's not like I'm a complete baby, I've five. I'm also pissed off. Last night on the phone, Daddy didn't even seem nearly as broken up over being away from me as he should have been.

Miss Caulfield pulls out the stuff she needs to tell the story. One of the items is the sandbox. Michael is always horrified with any stories involving sand. None of the kids can seem to stop touching it and he says it gets everywhere, which isn't true. It stays on our worship centers, the square piece of carpet under my ass. Miss Caulfield just dumps it back in after we do our work. Easy. She doesn't mind. Michael has to make a big deal about everything.

There aren't too many kids here today. I'm the lucky kid that has to come here every Sunday, but some kid's parents are more lax about church stuff. Papa calls them lazy.

"I wonder what this is?" Miss Caulfield says.

"A freaking mess waiting to happen," Michael hisses under his breath.

Each kid calls out something different. "Sandbox!" I say then watch as Tigger bounces around. I'm not into this today. I'd rather play with him.

"This is a piece of desert," she begins. "So many important things happened to the people of God in the desert that we have to have a piece of the desert in our room."

She's already removed three pairs of hands from the _desert,_ brushing them off and brushing sand on the floor as she speaks. Michael's tense beside me. He'll probably want to give me a bath after this. Miss Caulfield looks at him and I guess the look said _help_ because now Michael has to be the one continually removing pairs of hands from the sand.

I'm a good boy, not touching the sand at all. It's not that I don't want to; it's so fucking inviting. I love the way sand feels between my fingers. I want to swish it around. I don't though. Papa always asks if I was a good boy during Godly Play. He thinks it's more important than behaving at home and I'll get a spanking for sure if I misbehave at church. _Besides, I'll get to play in the sand when I do my work, which comes after the story. I think my work is going to include playing in the sandbox._ I begin dreaming of the sandcastle Tigger and I will build. I'll just say it's a house for all the people who had to cross the desert. Miss Caulfield will love that and she'll smile at me like I'm special. Least that's what I had planned. You're my fucking witnesses.

"But Papa's not here, Dean," Tigger reminds me. "It's just Uncle Dal and he's cool. Go'on. Touch it. It'll feel good. Everyone else is doing it."

They are, but Michael's right there. Sure, he's not really paying attention right now, but that'll get his attention pretty quick.

"If you don't, I will."

I swear I was about to tell Tigger "no way" but it's too late, he's already got his paw dipped into the sand. Not even Michael's quick enough to catch him, distracted by the other hands. But Tigger doesn't like it when Michael finally catches him and tries to take his paw out. He decides to whip sand at Michael, who is quick enough to dodge, but it gets Miss Caulfield in the eyes. "Oh dear, Michael, could you watch the children … I have to … be right back." She blindly makes her way over to the sink while the other kids laugh and dig into the sand, grabbing fistfuls, really starting to get it everywhere—it doesn't stay on anyone's worship centers like it's supposed to.

"That's it! Enough you little miscreants!" Michael says when Miss Caulfield is well on the other side of the large room and out of earshot. "Everyone back to the threshold. We need to get ready again. _Now._ "

The kids don't know they have an angry archangel in their midst, but they do know not to fuck with Michael any further. They all leave the circle and head back to the door. "Oh no, not you," Michael says to me. "You're handing over the doll. He's going in the safekeeping basket."

"No," I say bravely, but it's hard. Michael's furious. I've got to stick up for Tigger though. It was an accident.

"I will spank you right here—your teacher is currently blind," he whispers to me.

I hand Tigger straight over. "Thank you—to the door."

Michael makes us all line up in front of the "get-ready" mirror, where we have to look to check that our bodies are calm and our mouths are quiet, before we're allowed back in the circle. By the time we make it back to the circle, Miss Caulfield has returned. Her eyes are red and a little puffy. I feel pretty shitty on behalf of Tigger. "I'm sorry Miss Caulfield," I take out my soother to say. Tigger feels bad too.

"Not to worry Dean. It was an accident. I'm sure you'll be calm and quiet now."

She's the nicest lady in the whole world. I'm not going to get off as easily with Michael, he's still fuming.

We get through the story, the one where Moses takes his people across the sea. "I wonder which parts of the story we could take out?" she asks.

"The part where we have sand and little twerps inside a classroom together," Michael whispers to me. He's such as grouch. Since sand is everywhere, Miss Caulfield gets us all to take our carpet squares and dump the sand from them back into the 'desert'. There's still sand all over the place. "Let's draw pictures today for our work," she suggests. In other words, even Miss Caulfield's had enough sand for today. Michael approves, though I see him sneak over and hide all the glitter. Next is feast—my favorite part of Godly Play even though Daddy never lets me eat the snack they provide.

Miss Caulfield knows and sends me to grab my backpack with the snack. I don't mind too much, because Daddy usually packs something awesome. Uncle Dally does not disappoint. He's a Colt too. But the odd time, Papa's had to pack me a snack and that's never good.

After feast we say a prayer. Michael's been keeping a pretty close eye on me the whole time, but I do look over to where Tigger's sitting in the safekeeping basket. He's bored with his arms crossed. Fuck, Michael's pissed at me, Tigger's pissed at me and when Uncle Dally gets here he will be too.

I'm a bit nervous when Uncle Dally finally does come to get me. I don't want to be in trouble. At the end of class, I get Tigger from the safekeeping basket, "not cool, Dean," he says. "They don't even serve drinks in that prison." When Uncle Dally comes in the door, I run to him and latch onto his crisp pant-leg. It's always weird when Uncle Dally dresses up, even though he does it every Sunday for church. He looks good in anything though. He's got on neatly ironed black slacks with a short-sleeved, white button-up shirt and a braided leather bolo tie. True to form though, he's still got his brown, leather cowboy boots on, covered to the ankle by his pants. He's got his hat off and's holding it to his thigh, so he uses his free arm to hoist me up to him. "Half pint. Everything okay?"

It feels nice to be held against something as solid as Uncle Dal. I nod into his neck. "Can we go home?"

He nods. "You coming Michael?"

"I'll have to meet you there, I should help clean up all this sand."

"Whoa! Looks like it was a fun time. I was in the wrong sermon."

Miss Caulfield, hearing our conversation walks up to us. "Michael dear, don't worry about the sand. I'll clean the rest up."

His thoughts are so loud I can hear what he's thinking, which is, _as if she could do the job I could._ "Very well," he says.

Then she does something that makes Michael extremely uncomfortable, she _touches_ him, patting his shoulder gently. That improves my mood, I have to try not to laugh as Michael has a minor conniption. _Human touching … touching!_

"Sometimes Michael, I'd swear you're fifty and not fifteen."

If only she knew the half of it and she's off by just a few centuries.

"Thank you, ma'am," Uncle Dally says for Michael, nodding his head toward her. Michael's actively trying not to cringe.

"Dallas," she chides. "I told you—"

"Abigail, sorry." He smiles brightly at her and it's no wonder she wants to be special friends with him, Uncle Dally is super handsome. "Okay you two, let's go."

**

Andrew was by to leave us lunch and I have to admit, it's nice. Especially when I'm feeling this stressed. I've already had worry churning in my gut over Dean because he's so upset, but now, I know something happened in Godly Play and I need to get to the bottom of it. Of course I could just ask Michael, who judging by that look on his face, he's dying to spill all. I don't though. I give Dean the chance to tell me.

When they're all set up with food at the table, I begin my gentle interrogations. "How was Godly Play, half pint?"

"N-not good, Uncle Dally. I, I, Tigger played in the desert and accidentally got sand in Miss Caulfield's eyes."

What? She didn't mention that. "Dean Daniel, Jonathan."

"I'm sorry Uncle Dally. I tried to stop him, but it was too late."

Michael's beaming at me, the 'I told you so' plain in his eyes.

"It's not nice to tell fibs, Dean." I say it, but simultaneously check for lip biting. There is none. He really believes that thing is alive, doesn't he? Huh, kid's and their imaginations. So real.

This is terrible. I know Cas always spanks for this. He's very stringent, Winchesterly so, about church. Cas wouldn't have even waited 'till they got home to spank him. He'd of done it at the church. I know, I've seen it. Just a handful of swats over his clothed backside, but it's embarrassing enough, Dean rarely misbehaves in church for his papa. 'Cept Papa's not here, so Dean's acting up.

I give Dean my most unimpressed look. "Sorry Dean, but," I sigh. "You really should be spanked for this." I know he should be, but I've never had to give him more than a couple of swats.

"In the least, have that feline confiscated," Michael chimes in.

"Not helpful, Michael."

"I'm sorry Uncle Dally, really—it won't happen again. I'll be so, so good the whole rest of the time when Daddy and Papa aren't here."

I frown. I know what Cas would say, "actions have consequences, young man." I should say it too. _Maybe if you did that more often with Chris, y'all wouldn't be in the pickle you're in._

He's looking up at me with the Dean eyes. How does Cas ignore those? "I'm going to let this go, Dean, but it's a mighty big thing, you understand?" Likely not like I want him to. He's five. "No spanking, but we are talking about this. I may not be either of your daddies, but you will mind me, Sur."

"I will Uncle Dally, promise. I _promise._ "

There. That was a pretty stern lecture. He looks sincere. "I don't wanna hear about you misbehaving in Godly Play again," I throw in for good measure. This is my fault anyway. I've been bending the rules, so Dean thinks he can break the rules.

After lunch, Michael insists on Dean taking a bath, so I let him have at it. I make use of the munchkin-free time and give Chris a call. I'm worried about him. Just because we broke up, doesn't mean I'm not there for him. Oh yeah. I guess now would be a good time to mention. Our visit didn't go so well. We're off again. This time probably for good. Probably. Most likely.

"Oh Dals, thank the good lord. I'm sorry, please let me apologize. I shouldn't have accused you of being a two-bit whore."

"No. You shouldn't have."

"I just, I get so jealous. It's in the genes. I'm a Winchester."

"Yeah, I know."

"So, you forgive me?"

"Of course I do, but we're not back together."

"What? Like hell we aren't. Why? Wait, I know, you're back with Axl already, aren't you? Figures."

"That! That's why we're not together!" Nothing raises my blood pressure like Christian Winchester. Winchesters may not yell often, but Colt's are known to when they're aggravated enough. That's now.

"We just need to sort this out. Come let me in."

"Let you in?"

"Yeah. I'm here."

"Jesus, Chris!"

"Let me in, Dals. I'm not goin' away."

"I've got Dean this week. There's not going to be much time for sortin'."

"I know. Let me in anyway."

He's not going away. Fine. I'll let him in, so I can kill him. "Just knock, Shane will let you in."

"Fine."

It's not long before Chris comes storming through the house to find me. I can practically _hear_ him wanting to tear the place up, probably thinking I have Axl here and hiding somewhere, so I saunter out of the kitchen to find him storming toward me. "Give it a rest Chris, there's no Axl here. When would I have had time to talk to Axl?"

He ignores the question. "Take me back."

"No."

"Well fine, guess that means I'm staying 'till you come to your senses. Where's my favorite nephew?"

"You shouldn't say that, you have another nephew on the way."

"And Dean's not _your_ favorite, I-have-over-ten-nephews-Colt?"

He's got me there. I have a lot of nephews and there's no doubt who comes first.

"Exactly. Where is he?"

"Michael's giving him a bath." Which reminds me. "Oh doodle, I should check on that—he's likely on his third round."

I head on upstairs and Chris follows suit. The door is open a crack and we can hear Dean and Michael bickering. "That's enough times, Michael. _Please._ "

Dean's already learned from Sam not to disturb Michael too aggressively when he's in this trance, but poor little guy's had enough. I knock on the door, but enter without waiting to be admitted. Michael's trying to put more shampoo in Dean's hair.

Not only is my patience a little thin right now, but I'm not nearly as good as Sam is at coaxing Michael out of this trance he goes into. I've watched Sam do it, it's a dance, an artistic, careful dance that I just don’t know the steps to. Instead I step on his feet. "All right, all right. You can come out now, half pint. Michael, enough."

"But Mister …Dallas, I'm not—"

"Oh yes you are. C'mon, time for Dean to get out." I grab a towel, step between Michael and Dean and pull him out. Michael's outraged. I can't care at the moment. I'm also outraged. At Chris.

"Uncle Chris!" Dean says as I pull him out with a towel surrounding him. "What are you doing here?"

"Came to see your uncle Dals, is that okay?"

"Yeah," sniff. "Uncle Dally?" Dean says, his voice wavering, starting to cry.

"Yeah?"

"I want my papa."

Rats. Chris does look quite a bit like Cas. He must have reminded Dean. "And I want Sam. This is outrageous. Let's get him on Skype," Michael says. The angel's pissed.

"Here, go see your uncle Chris, half pint." I'm banking on the look-a-like factor; I pass him off to Chris, Dean gladly snuggles in. "Michael, we can call Sam if you really need to, but I'd rather bother them on their trip as little as possible. Can you wait 'till tonight?"

"Yeah. I don't _really_ need to." He's pouting. The angel is pouting. Now I've got a crying little boy, a jealous not-boyfriend and a pouting angel. This can't get worse. _What would Cas do?_

"Okay, everyone out of here. Dean you want to stay with Uncle Chris, or come with Uncle Dal?"

"Papa!"

What am I supposed to do with that? Meanwhile, Michael starts wiping off Dean's toes with a washcloth. "Michael."

"I missed a spot."

"You didn't miss anythin'. Ugh. Jus', just go downstairs and find somethin' in the kitchen to Pine-Sol." I have no cool right now, cool officially lost.

"He's grouchy," Michael says to Chris on his way out. "It's probably your fault."

"It's definitely my fault," Chris agrees, still bouncing Dean. Dean's finally stopped crying, but he's sniffling and sucking on his thumb. Michael leaves in a huff. "I gotta'an idea though little cowboy," Chris says. "Let's Skype call Grampa Clyde. How about that?"

"Okay," says a little tiny voice.

"Aw, half pint." I use the large towel Dean's haphazardly wrapped in to dry his hair watching the silent tears continue to fall. He does that a lot and it's the most heartbreaking thing. We think it comes from his old life. Not that he's the only kid with a silent cry, but it's the _way_ he does it; with a far off look like he's thinking and feeling things he shouldn't. Like there's still some part of him thinking it's not okay for him to cry for missing his daddies. I pull him out of Chris's arms and he latches on like a koala bear.

When Dean's dressed, I break down again and give him his soother without him even asking just so I can see him smile huge, which he does, and I give him his Tigger. He reaches out for Chris's hand, feeling some of that Winchester-style comfort only Winchesters seem to know how to give and I'm smiling at how cute they look walking down the hall, Chris holding his little hand, while trying to shove down the thoughts of what Chris would look like with our kid.

_You're not even dating him Dallas. Stop. Just stop it._

My phone buzzes in my pocket as we make our way down to Cas's office, which has the largest monitor for making Skype calls and I check it just in case it is Sammy or Cas. It's not. It's worse. Axl.

_It's official, Anaheim is outta the playoffs. We're on our way home. Can I see you tonight? I need someone to soothe my broken ego and I've been missing you sexy D._

_Not a good week. I've got Dean for the week. How about next?_

_You know I love Dean! I bought him a damn Orca from Vancouver. Stupid Canucks. See you later candy-ass._

No! Not see you later and definitely not candy-ass. Aw Jeez. Mama says there is a time for cursing and I think this is it. Fuck my life.

Chris looks back at me. "You all right Dals?"

"Yeah, fine."

We set Dean up with the Grampa Winchester Skype call. He's wiggling with anticipation and biting his lip like I do. I love that he got that from me. When Grampa Winchester pops onto the screen, Dean removes his soother and gives him a big smile. "Grampa!"

"Who's this, I say who's this, now? Claire! Some kid who looks like our favorite grandson is callin', but it can't be, this one's too big lookin'."

"Grampa! It's me, it's Dean. I growed."

Clyde pretends to be shocked. "Well look at that, it is you Dean. How you been keepin'?"

"Not good Grampa. Papa and Daddy are gone."

That makes me roll my eyes, he makes it sound like they've left him forever. "Should I spank them for you?"

Dean giggles. "Yeah."

"Done."

I watch carefully as Clyde works his magic on Dean. Chris watches on proud. He knew. Knew this is exactly what would happen; what Dean needed. If only I were any good at being a top, maybe I wouldn't be in these sorts of messes. I can handle the easy stuff, but when it gets too complex, apparently not even my Masters in Psych saves me. By the time Clyde's done with him, Dean is mostly back to himself.

"Dallas, a moment if you will?" Clyde says. I ask Chris to take Dean to the kitchen with Michael, so I can have a moment alone with Clyde. The man is nerve-wrecking to say the least and I have the distinct feeling I'm about to be wrung out. Our relationship is tricky since Chris and I started our 'thing.' We had to go through getting him to approve us dating. He knows we're not 'Sunday Dinner Serious,' yet he hasn't demanded we stop dating in all these years. Guess there are even some things Clyde doesn’t involve himself in, though we don't exactly announce our break-ups to the family. Of course Sammy and Cas know, on account I live with them, but so far, Clyde hasn't demanded we get married, or at least make us more official by moving in or something.

We're adults, yeah, but I don't know that's quite it, it's not like the Winchesters have ever had a problem interfering with Sammy and Cas.

"Sir?"

"Why's that boy have his soother, Dallas? I know he's not supposed to. Dean and I had a long discussion over soothers just last week."

Now I'm biting my lip. "I caved okay? He's real upset about his parents being gone."

"So you're giving him anything and everything."

"Yeah. Um, yes sir."

"That's not what Dean needs. I know my son's shoes are pretty big ones to fill, but you've got your own alpha inside you Dallas, I can see it, you've just got to learn how to command your alpha."

See that, _that_ right there—that must mean he knows about Chris, but neither of them will talk about it and I can't get Chris to see sense on that issue. It's still our no-talk subject and the source of most of our fights. We usually avoid it.

 _If only Cas could hear just how fondly Clyde talks about him when he's not around._ "I expect more out of you Dallas. Dean needs something solid. Are you sayin' you're not somethin' solid?"

That sends a pit spinning in my stomach, if pits can do that. He said Dean, but somehow I know he means Chris and I can hear the underlying meaning of his words. I'm not something solid for Chris. Sure I told Chris it ain't happening between us, but at the same time, hearing we could be off the table for good has me panicked. "I can do better, sir."

"See that you do. Sort this out and that includes whatever's going on with my son who it did not escape my notice is there." I didn't for a second think it did. "Call me tomorrow evening."

He sure doesn't give a guy much time, or much information, which means he wants me to solve this on my own. "Yes, sir."


	9. Dallas Colt: Uncle, Top, All Around Amazing Guy (3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well here I am 3 weeks later! This one had me on a roller coaster, but I think the characters were too. 
> 
> In that time, our picto friend LW has been up to a little writing. You can read her new fic here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/6621112/chapters/15150445 Beware of extreme fluff and ultra cute lil' Cas. You'll love it. 
> 
> Enjoy!

By the time dinner rolls around (I had to tell Chef Andrew to expect four instead of two) I'm no closer to 'sorting this out,' whatever that means, but I am closer to the time Axl's going to show up. No I haven't figured out how to stop Axl coming, or told Chris yet; I can't figure out how to do that either. He's going to flip-out.

Michael's been in a sour mood all day—more sour than usual and I know it's because I handled his angel OCD all wrong; he's not handling Cas and Sam's absence well. This must be a small sampling of what the poor fellow is like when we're away in Texas.

He and Dean have been fighting like siblings all afternoon to the point I threatened to send Michael home causing them to do their thing where they cling to each other. Chris has been ping-ponging between sucking up to me and being mad at me for my supposed 'affair' with Axl, which is about to be 'confirmed' by Axl showing up.

"Uncle Dally, c'we make a fort and sleep in it. Tigger's asking."

I'm not surprised Dean's imaginary friend Tigger's come back this week, I just wish 'Tigger' wasn't so mischievous. "Yeah. Sure we can half pint." Gives me an idea. "We can have a whole party in there if you want." This is good because Chris can be helping Dean make a fort while I get rid of Axl. Maybe the angel can help with that.

"Looks like you're all set for friends. Perhaps I'll just leave," Michael says.

"No! Tell him he's stayin', Uncle Dally."

"I don't know. Y'all haven't been playing nice today, maybe it's—"

"—you're not being a good listener, Uncle Dal!"

I know Cas wouldn't put up with sass like that. Even Chris is looking at me, waiting for me to give our cranky friend some kind of scolding with a _do it, or I will,_ expression on his face. I challenge him back with a _fine then, you do it._

I know he's acting out because his parents are gone. Normally I would chastise him, but I think he deserves a little leeway.

Chris crosses his arms. _Fine._ "Dean Winchester, that's no way to talk to your uncle. You're going to apologize then straight to bed. No forts tonight."

_Oh jeez. No. Oh fuck. Too harsh Winchester. Too harsh._

Dean loses it. Tigger gets thrown at Chris, Michael finally smirks his smiley-smirk, entertained and I get up to restrain Dean who's about to huck his plate across the table. I don't make it in time, some spaghetti lands on the floor, but Michael is in for the save and ends up partially pastified. Chris is laughing now. "This is your fault," I tell him wanting to spank him now more than I ever have, which is saying something.

"Still funny, sugar."

"I'm not going to bed Uncle Dally."

I agree with Dean. It's too harsh a punishment for the crime in my mind, I think Dean would rather be spanked, but at the same time, I think Dean could use an early night. "It won't be funny when you're sitting on a sore bottom," I say to Chris who blushes. "Not going to bed yet, half pint. C'mere." I pull him out of his chair and to me. "You two, clean this up before I get back, or I'm handing out spankings and Dean's gonna help me, aren't you, sweetheart?"

"Yeah!"

"How come he's let off the hook?" Michael says.

"He's not. I'm going to have a chat with him. You two get cleaning."

I hear Michael grumbling about having to clean up Dean's mess, but he's on my list today too. I've had it with all of them and it's hard to feel bad. They want to rile me? My gut instinct is to bring everyone back to order Colt-style, which often means tasks get assigned to whoever is within vicinity of the catastrophe.

I take Dean outside, Pala follows behind us and I sit him on the table of the picnic bench. "C'mon Dean. Calm down." I sit down in front of him and rub his back.

"But he, he said—"

"Don't worry about that. Who's the one in charge here?"

I already know it, but if I didn't, the confused look on Dean's face tells me what a poor job I'm doing. Everything's spiraled out of control, fast. _No wonder Cas doesn't let anything go._ "Um, Papa's in charge," he finally answers.

"Yeah. I deserve that. Okay let's start fixing this. Dean, just because I'm not Papa doesn't mean you get to misbehave, remember? I've told you that before." Of course he doesn't remember, five-year-olds have memories like cheesecloths. They remember what they want to.

"But Tigger said we could do some fun things since Papa's not here and we did. Like the ice cream."

"He did, did he?"

Dean nods and fiddles with his soother, which reminds me. "And have your soother?"

Another nod.

Lordy bee. It's like I've never looked after him. "Uncle Dallas made some mistakes half pint and I'm sorry I—" That's as far as I get with my lecture, which was going to be good, we were going to talk about his soother and everything, I swear. Axl shows up early.

"Here I am sexy D, you miss me?" Axl, big, broad shouldered Axl, with his thick hockey player legs strides up to us and I hope to God Chris doesn't see him from the unobstructed kitchen window. He's still got his messy playoff hair (it's longer than his usual chin-length) and thick playoff beard. He's wearing crisp low-slung dark blue jeans, a Duck's t-shirt and a leather jacket. He's got a little stuffed Orca. Axl plays for Anaheim, but he's Canadian and still has some affection for the team of his hometown. He only complained about the Vancouver Canucks, because Anaheim lost to them.

I fell for Axl because of his smile and his ability to have fun wherever he goes. He can build a party out of nothing. I think that's why Dean likes him too. "Axl!"

"Heya buddy! You get your daddies to let you play hockey yet?"

I shake my head. That's not a great topic. "Sam's having a bird about that Axe."

"He loves it, D. We should do what we love. Anyway, I got this for you superstar. You'll be playing by September." He hands Dean the stuffed Orca.

"What do you say, half pint?"

"Thanks Axe." Dean likes calling him 'Axe.' He thinks it's really cool.

"Thank you Axl," I say too.

"Whoa, what's with all the formality?"

"The formality is my boyfriend's here."

"Boyfriend? You on again with the cowboy? No wait, don't answer that. It's all good. Maybe I should say hi."

Axl isn't one for jealousy, not like Chris, but Axl likes to win—no surprise—and knowing Chris is competition is enough to spark jealous behavior in Axl, even though he's the polyamorous type. "No. You shouldn't. He's got lots of guns." That's the best I can think of to stop him.

Axl laughs. "Don't worry, babe. I just wanna talk with him. Maybe drink a beer with him. Ask him on a date."

 _Can someone not make today harder for me?_ He strides toward the sliding glass kitchen door and makes his way inside. "We'll have to continue this later half pint. Uncle Dallas is in big trouble."

"How come?"

"You're about to see." I pull Dean off the table and cart him inside. Pala follows us (we all know she's really following Dean) ever faithfully.

I always wondered which one would win in a fight. Between the two, Axl's the athlete and definitely bigger, but Chris is the Winchester, which is a class all by itself. Currently, they're both staring each other down. Chris is in an apron with dish gloves on and Michael's got one dishtowel slung over his shoulder with another in his hand. He's removed the blazer he was wearing earlier, the one full of pasta and sauce. I pass Dean off to Michael. "Hold him and don't let him go." I'm not sure if this is going to get ugly. I'm going to do what I can to stop it.

"What is _that_ he's got? Not another stuffie," Michael says. I'd laugh at the horror on his face, if I wasn't preoccupied.

"Dals? Oh c'mon, what kinda nickname is that?"

"What do you call him that's so great?" Chris says.

"Sexy D." Axl waggles his eyebrows at me.

"Yeah. That's original."

"Well I'm a hockey player in the NHL."

"My family owns Winchester, Colt, Remington and after I meet with them, also Smith and Wesson."

"Why don't y'all just pee on me? Lordy Bee." That's me of course.

"Look, we don't have to do that. I'm okay sharing with your boyfriend here, you know that Dallas." It's true. Axl's never been one hundred percent on the monogamy-train.

"Little ears," Michael says covering Dean's ears.

"Well I'm not okay sharing. You can kiss my go to hell. Wait we're boyfriends again?" Chris says.

_Dang it._

"Wait, you're not boyfriends?" Axl says.

"Out! Out! Everyone out. Chris you go home and Axl go home too."

"Nuh-uh!"

"No way."

"You're going to settle this once and for all, Dals. Pick, him or me."

I look into Chris's Winchester-blue eyes and I know that underneath all his valor, he's really hurt. He doesn't mean what he's just said, except that he wants to hear me pick him. Axl's a lot more laid back. He's really hoping Chris will leave so we can 'do stuff' after Dean's in bed. "I'm not picking—"

"Well you have to," Chris says.

I'm not playing this game. I look to Dean who looks amused by this whole thing. "You pick half pint. Who should be my special friend?"

"Okay," he says clapping. "Uncle Chris, why do you like Uncle Dally?"

"'Cause he makes me… he makes my heart so full." His voice is choked; his eyes glisten. As much as Chris denies his own identity, he can be more expressive than any other Winchester. My heart kicks up a clumsy rhythm hearing that. I didn't expect Dean to ask that question, nor did I expect an answer like that. _Course he'd say that. He thinks he's losing you._ As if he ever could, I just wish he didn't always pick when we break up to start being less of a dumbass.

"Now, Axl," Dean says.

"Well the real reason isn't for little ears, but let's just say only two people who are really special to each other could have the kind of fun we have." Axl's not the romantic kind.

"Huh, like special fun games?"

"Yeah. Special fun games buddy."

"In that case, Uncle Dal, I think you should be friends with them both, just hang out on different days. Daddy says it's not nice to leave people out."

That's what I get for asking a five-year-old. "I'll take him to brush his teeth and put his pajamas on and get rid of that," Michael says toward the orca, "it looks like you're going to be awhile."

"Thank you Michael," I say. At least the orca distracts Dean from Tigger who is left on the counter. Am I foolish to hope the orca's going to be better behaved than Tigger?

Chris takes his dish gloves off and starts undoing his apron. He's very Winchester about the way he folds and sets the apron on the counter. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the marble. I know that look. He's not being amendable. He's being fake-amendable. He's fixin' on winning this. If I let it get to that, poor Axl wouldn't stand a chance. Winchesters don't lose once they get that look in their eyes. I'm not going to let it get to that though. I'm out. "If you two are going to continue to fight over me, do it outside where you'll only break each other. I've got a Dean to build forts with before I put him to bed. Y'all can kill each other for all I care. I want nothin' t'do with it."

I storm off. I don't mean a word of what I just said of course, but I know there's no convincing those too. Axl's too wild and Chris is too stubborn. The most important thing right now is Dean anyway. Michael's brushing his hair, he looks a lot more relaxed than earlier. "Did they make up Uncle Dal? Did you make them hug?"

I laugh. "I hope so. You ready to call Papa and Daddy?"

"Yeah!"

"In that case, I'll just get his teeth brushed then I will depart."

"I don't mind if you stay a little longer, Michael. I thought you wanted to talk to Sam?"

"I would, but Papa Winchester will explode if I'm here too close to bedtime without either one of them around. It's better for you this way. Besides," he says blushing. "Christian and I had a talk. He was helpful."

Huh. I'm surprised the Angel let Chris help him.

"And I would get him to lose the soother if I was you," Michael adds. Right.

To make up for my earlier faux-pas in Dean and Michael land, I let Michael finish getting him ready for bed then Dean and Michael go through their goodbye ritual. No matter how hard of a day they've had together, they're usually just as heartbreaking when they have to part. Dean does something like hold onto his leg and Michael does things like assure him he'll see Dean soon. "I'll show myself out," he says to me.

"Thanks Michael—and maybe you can make sure they haven't killed each other for me?"

"I'll do what I can."

Dean and I spend some time putting together a blanket fort and it's nice. It's the feeling I've wanted for us all day. Some quality Uncle-Nephew time, sharing some laughs and being silly. When we're all set, I pull out my phone and we Facetime, hash-tag-team-daddies. Sammy answers. "Dean Bean!"

"Daddy I miss you! When you comin' home?"

"See Cas, Dean wishes we were home."

Cas comes into view and takes the phone from Sam. "We'll be home in six sleeps, kiddo."

"Papa! Papa!" Dean says and bursts into tears.

"See Cas? He needs you," we can hear from the background.

Cas rolls his eyes privately to me. "Dean, sweetheart, what's wrong?"

"I, I wasn't good today. I played in the sand and it got in her eyes and Tigger had to go in the naughty-basket."

Cas looks at me confused. I explain. "There was a mishap at Godly Play today—it was an accident Cas." Now I sound like Dean earlier.

"I see. Dean, you know what I expect of you in your Sunday school class. I'm sorry to hear you were misbehaved."

"I'm s-sorry, Papa."

I know right away this is my fault too. I should have punished him. It calms Dean. Completes a circle inside of him. It's not like with my siblings who thought it was great to get away with something, it affects Dean inside differently. He needs what Cas gives him and Cas always seems to know what to give him.

"I'm disappointed Dean. I want you to work on an apology card for Miss Caulfield. Your uncle will help you. We'll give it to her next Sunday, where I'll be expecting your best behavior, or you can have a spanking in church."

Dean wipes at his tears. "I will Papa. I'll make her a really good card."

"What was Tigger doing at church anyway Mister Winchester?"

"I was sad Papa."

"Sad? It looks like you've got a pretty neat fort going—you're not sleeping in there are you?"

"We are Papa, 'cause you can't stop us," Dean says giggling and sniffling at the same time. It reminds me a lot of the conversation between Dean and Clyde, more Winchester magic, but this time it's the _exact_ right kind. Dean knows which things Cas means business about and which things are fun between the two of them.

"I guess I am too far away to stop you. Okay, well I can't do anything about the forts, but Tigger does not go to preschool, understand?"

"Yes, Papa."

"That's my good boy. I love you, angel."

"Love you too, Papa."

"I'm going to pass you over to Daddy now. Dallas, call me after Dean's asleep."

He's not asking. _Now I've got both the Winchester heads on my tail—way to go Colt._ "Yes, sir." Dean's excited when he talks to Sammy and chatters away about ice cream and Michael giving him too many baths and shows off his new Orca friend. Cas doesn't mention the soother, but I'm sure he's going to.

**

I don't call Cas immediately after I put Dean to bed (he is sleeping in his fort, Pala, Tigger and the orca, Fin, with him). First I go downstairs to see what's left of my exes. I'm shocked to hell to see just Chris watching TV in the living room. I look him over, he looks to be in tact. "What happened?"

Chris turns off the television. "We duked it out until the angel came downstairs. He _convinced_ that Yankee-doodle to go home. What do you see in that guy anyway Dals?"

"We're not playin' that game. I oughta spank you for all this." When Chris gets this riled, he needs to be spanked—least that one's easy to figure out.

He looks at his hands. "W-would you?"

I have to appraise him; figure out if this was all a big elaborate goading tantrum.

I haven't exactly been top of the year over the past couple days and I don't exactly think of myself like a top (I've got a long ways to go before I'm anything like Cas) but I can tell it's not exactly goading. Even if it were, it wouldn't change what he needs and that I've agreed to give him that no matter what. I sit down beside him and pull him into me. "Dals, I'm sorry I'm so jealous. I just am. It's not likely to change neither. That mean we're…are we really done for good?"

"No. We're not done for good, we're not even done. I already told Ax—"

"Don't mention that dick. Jealous, remember?"

"I already said you're my boyfriend. Ain't that enough for you?"

"Good. I'm gonna tell him to kiss my go to hell."

"Thanks for remindin' me. You already did, in front of Dean. You're not doing anything like that. The only thing you are doing is getting a good spanking before bed. You're staying here I presume? I didn't see a suitcase."

"Didn't bring one. I hopped on the plane and came here. Didn't think too much about it. I'm going to have to go shopping tomorrow."

I shake my head at him. "How long can you stay?"

"'Till Friday then I gotta fly to Springfield."

I pull him into a kiss. "Hello by the way."

He laughs into my lips. "Hello."

I slide my tongue into his mouth and tug his thigh over mine. I missed him. I've spent the days I've been back not thinking about or talking about him, because I didn't want to miss him, so darn much, but I did anyway. "I don't want to break up again, Chris. I love you."

"C'mon, let's not talk about sad stuff tonight—let's start making up for lost time."

"If we're doing that, then I should be spanking you."

"You got all night t'do that, Dals. Wouldn't you rather me do this?" He tugs at my jeans, undoing them and pulling my cock out. I should stop him, this is exactly my recurring problem—letting people who need spankings off the hook and worse, dictate when they get said spankings, but I'll be better off if I can ask Cas some questions first and if I'm relaxed.

**

"You didn't spank him, Dallas? I always spank for that. No exceptions. You know that."

"I know, but, well I'm in charge Cas. It didn't merit in my opinion. He's still torn up about you two gone."

"All the more reason he needs the certainty."

"I, yeah." When he puts it like that. "I'm sorry Castiel. I screwed this up royally."

I get a quarter smile outta Cas. "No, you're just a Colt. Colts are prone to being manipulated by cute five-year-olds."

As if he's not.

"Any chance you'd be able to offer up some advice on fixin' this Cas?"

"It's easy. Put on your Winchester hat. I've seen you do it plenty. Even if it's in your own Colt way."

"You have?"

"Remember when Sam went out with his Stanford friends last month and you watched Dean so I could get some work done from home?"

"Yes, sir."

"I came out to check on you two and I saw you disciplining Dean for sassing you."

"That was one little tap to his bottom, Cas."

"It was exactly what he needed. You said, I already warned you about sassing me, Sur. Keep it up and they'll be more where that came from. I knew everything was well in hand; I left you to it. You're better at this than you think you are."

Maybe. "I can't fill your shoes, Cas."

"You don't need to fill my shoes. You bring your own unique package. I know you're softer and that's okay."

I nod. "I don't want to interrupt your vacation any longer, but—"

"If you need to ask questions, fire away. Sam is otherwise indisposed at the moment."

I don't even want to know what that means. "Chris is here. I didn’t tell you but we sorta broke up over—well he's so jealous Cas. Anyway, we're back together already, like a broken country record."

He nods knowingly. "I see. Do you hate it that much? The jealousy?"

"No. I just can't help but default to 'he doesn't trust me' even though I understand him much better than that. I know that's not the case."

"Are you sure it's not the other way around then?"

"As in I'm the jealous one? I'm not the one acting like a caveman every time we try to go out with other guys, uh, no offense Cas."

"None taken. What I was trying to say, maybe you don't trust you."

"That's even more ridiculous, uh again, no offense Cas. Much as I care for Axl, Chris always comes first."

"You're really not going to get it Mr. I'm-working-on-my-P-H-D-in-psych?"

That's coming up a lot today. Just because I went to school for psychology, doesn’t mean I know everything. 'Cause when it comes to this stuff, I take my hat off to Cas. "Not this time."

"You don't think you're _enough_ for him. Christian is a force of nature. He's a tidal wave of chaos. When he acts out jealously, it reminds you of that and you don't feel deserving of his strong loyalty."

Huh. Well I'll be. Hearing it put like that makes it so simple. Makes me wonder why I didn't figure it out in the first place. "You could have had another calling, brother Cas."

"Nope. I'm a Winchester. We provide arms. Sometimes they're just not the metal kind."

"Gotcha. Thanks, Cas."

"Good. One more thing Dallas, I suspect a certain someone has convinced his uncle to give him his soother because he's having a hard time. If my suspicion is right, me and that uncle will be having a conversation when I get back. For now, I'm going to assume I'm assuming." 

It's hard to answer him while under his cold stare. And it's worse, it didn't even take any convincing on Dean's part, but I don't correct him. _Sorry Dean._ "Yes, sir." 

**

When I enter my bedroom, Chris is lounging on my bed with his shirt off reading one of my guitar magazines. I shut the door and get straight down to business. "We have rules Christian."

"Whoa there cowboy, I—"

Nope. I'm not confused anymore. I know what I need to do to put us to rights. "I'm talking, Sur. Put down that magazine now and listen."

He does, sitting up. "You can get jealous as you want," I begin making my way over to him, standing him up and revealing the wooden spoon I took from the kitchen drawer downstairs. I place it down and undo his pants. "But you can't act like a you're Dean's age in front of our friends."

I pull his jeans and boxers down in one swoop then swing him over my knees so he's hanging off balance. "Your hand please, Sur."

"I don't need you to hold my hand through a spanking, I'm perfectly capable of—ow!"

I give him a nice hard whack, which results in him putting his hand back immediately, like he always does. I grab it and pin it to the small of his back. "Thank you."

I don't bother warming him up, his ass can take it, I use the spoon I brought. Chris is dramatic as heck when he's being spanked. He doesn't even try to stay quiet, hollering on the first few spanks even though I know it can't possibly hurt as much as his fuss is saying he is. "Jesus H, Dals. Ow! That fucking smarts."

"Do we have to go over how I feel about you cursing during punishment too?"

"No, sir! Sorry."

I have to put my leg over his two kicking ones before I continue to turn his cheeks a nice shade of red that'll be tough for sitting on tomorrow. As I spank him, I feel calmer inside. Not that I was riled in an angry way, it was more feelings of discontent. Cas was right. Cas is always right. No matter where we end up, I've promised him I'll be here for him, like this, for as long as he needs me.

I tug him up to standing. "We're not done. I want you in that corner and when I call you to come out, I want to know how many of our rules _I've_ broken. Go."

He makes his way to the corner and I admire my own spank job. Not only is his saucy-ass bright and round and warm, he looks suitably chastised with his head slightly humbled, a sense of calm I've seen before that lights him up from within. He's sniffles, but doesn't say a word.

I wait twenty minutes and have to remind him not to shuffle at least once, I want him to feel the sting of the spanking, absorb it without trying to dissipate the sensations. "If you want to misbehave, you can feel the effects of that."

I wait another ten minutes or so, until I call him I over. "C'mere, Sugar." I help him out of the rest of his clothes and he watches me carefully as I dress him in a t-shirt of mine and some pajama pants. I make him wait while I get ready for bed and grab him a warm cloth for his face.

"What are they again?"

"Aw c'mon Dallas."

"I'd love to spank you again. I might anyway."

"All right, all right. Our rules are, you stick with me the whole time when we're out. If you're gonna go somewhere, you tell me, you won't dress in anything I don't approve of before hand, you do what you can to assure me you're mine."

"Did I break any rules?"

"Nossir. You were perfect Dals."

"And what did you do?"

"Punched Alex's lights out. He was getting kinda close Dals. You know these feelings are never going to go away?"

"I understand. But you didn't punch…the guy that was here tonight."

"I wanted to, but Dean was there."

"Ah, so you can control your actions." We have a deal. I know how hard it is for him, so we have rules to make life easier for the both of us, but there's compromise. I follow the rules we discussed and he behaves himself no matter what he sees he doesn't like. I do my best not to provoke any outside touching, flirting, or anything else in the realm of making Chris jealous, but it's never perfect. Sometimes a guy comes onto me without me wanting him to. I am always true to Chris. 

"I guess. I get so damn mad though. I know it was stupid."

"I'm glad you realize. Is there anythin' we need to add?"

"No, well maybe just that I should've said something to you, told you I was uncomfortable. You're so good."

I shake my head. "You didn't feel secure. I have to work on that."

"That spanking helped. A lot," he says, barely. He's still shy admitting how much spanking helps him.

"Good boy. You can expect me to kick that up a few notches if you behave like that again. Got it?"

"Yessir," he smiles.

"I owe you an apology too. You're a lot to handle and sometimes, I just don't think I'm enough to handle you."

"How could you think that? That was, Dals that was perfect."

"You bring it out in me, Chris." I yank him toward me and lay us down so he's on my chest, but his thoughts are so loud I can hear them. "No I'm not takin' care of this," I say squeezing his dick, the one I know is hard, "but you're welcome to put that smart mouth a' yours to good use again, darlin'."

Chris's face breaks into a wide grin.

**

"This is all your fault Tigger," I say quietly hoping Uncle Dally can't hear me. He can.

"I'm not starting your time until you're quiet, Sur."

See? Told you he was stricter than Daddy. Daddy just starts timing soon as he sits me on the naughty step. Uncle Dally and Uncle Chris are both in the kitchen, I'm on the stairs by the entryway. Tigger thought we could swing waffles for breakfast, turns out we could not. I might have thrown a fit over it. I might have sassed Uncle Dally a bit. A lot. Neither Uncle was impressed. Also, Tigger's a bit jealous of Fin, so I left Fin on my bed, but it's not good enough, he's gotta prove we're tighter pals. I don't know why he's worried, it's not like I can hear a thing Fin says. Tigger's always telling me what he's saying, I'm left just taking his word for it. It's hard for me to become tight pals with someone I can't talk to. Even if the guy would learn some sign language or something, that would be doable, but nada. It's all white noise.

Still got my soother though, but I have a feeling that ship's going to sail before I have to go to pre-school.

Finally Uncle Dally comes out to get me. He crouches down and smiles at me with that warm Uncle Dal light in his eyes. "Are you gonna fuss all day, half pint?"

"No."

"I think so," he says tickling my belly.

"Hey! Stop that."

He laughs. "That mean you're ready come back to the table like the Dean 'Chester I know eats his breakfast nicely?"

"Yeah."

"C'mon then. I know you like bacon and eggs."

"I do Uncle Dally. Waffles is just funner."

Uncle Chris has a look in his eyes that's just like Papa's. I know that look. He thinks I should get a spanking. I climb to my seat, careful not to expose my bottom for any spanky-hands. I'm right about the soother. "You can't bring that to school Dean, I might as well take it now."

He takes it away and puts it in a kitchen drawer. Tigger also has to stay with Uncle Dally and Uncle Chris while I go to preschool, which is horseshit.

I like preschool, but I've already been in a year of it and I’m bored. Papa said I had to do it again even though I'm five and even though I'm smart enough to be in kindergarten. I don't turn numbers like other kids. He said he thought it best I do an extra year since they don't know when I'll be six and it's 'good for me.'

There's a lot of freaking pressure to make friends, but I'm just not into the kids there. They like me of course, who doesn't? I always get invited to their dumb birthdays, but I hate going. Least there's cake there. And because most of them are rich, there's usually one of those balloon animal people. They don't just make animals though, once a pretty lady made me a minion.

When Uncle Chris is done, he excuses himself. "All right you little squirt, we'll have fun later—be good at school, okay?"

"I will Uncle Chris."

"I'm gonna take a shower Dals, you'll come pick me up and we'll go to the mall?"

"'Course, darlin'." They kiss. When Uncle Chris leaves, Uncle Dally gets up to put my school snack together and puts it in my backpack. "You finish up your breakfast there half pint, I'm just gonna run to the little boy's room then we'll go."

I swear, all I was doing was munching on a piece of bacon when I hear. "Psst, Dean."

"No Tigger. Whatever you're planning, forget it. I've been in enough trouble."

"You don't want to go to school alone, do yah?"

"Well no, but—"

Before I can stop him, he bounces right into my backpack, I was going to take him out, but I hear Uncle Dally on his way back to the kitchen. The only thing I can think to do is zip up my pack and hope Uncle Dal doesn't see him—otherwise he'll think I put him in there. I'll just leave him in my backpack all day and take him out when I get home—no one'll know.

**

I take Chris to one of the fancier places in town. I know he likes to get the nicer jeans and shirts. I can tell he's chewing on something the whole time and I think I know what. "We gonna address the elephant in the room?"

"If it's a tall, hockey playin' elephant then no, I don't want to talk about him."

" _Chris._ "

"What's there to talk about? How you go crawling back to him every time we break up?"

"I didn't go crawling back to him," I hiss at him. We're in the middle of the shopping centre, not exactly the place I want to have this discussion, but looks like we're having it. He's grabbing pairs of jeans, throwing them over his shoulder, trying to set what's left in the pile on fire with his eyes. "Hey, hey, c'mon Chris." I take the pair out of his hands he was about to, probably throw and pull him to me. "You know that's not what happened."

He tugs away. "Not this time, but every other time."

"Because—"

"—bet you it's because he's got a big dick. That it? His dick—"

"Okay, that's enough." I grab his wrist and haul him and the jeans he's slung over his shoulder to the nearest change room. I drag him in and lock us both inside. "We can have this conversation over my knee right here in the store, or you can behave yourself and we can talk like adults. Either way is fine with me." Especially since it will settle whatever piss and vinegar's got into him.

"You can't spank me 'cause I don't like that Yankee doodle."

"Don't worry, that's not why I'd be spanking you. I'd be spanking you 'cause you're acting like a child in the middle of a department store." My face is close to his face, kissing close. I feel the burning need to kiss him, but I don't. "So what's it gonna be, Chris?"

"I am behaving and acting like an adult, I just asked a question."

"Gotcha, cowboy." I start unbuttoning the jeans he's wearing, the ones I lent him that he complained about being _too_ faded. Apparently, there's an acceptable amount.

"Okay. _Okay,_ I'll behave. I was bein' a dillhole."

Chris tends to like to push, especially in public. He always thinks I won't spank him, and admittedly I've hesitated a time or two before, but now, I have no compunctions dishing out what he needs wherever we are if that's what he needs. He knows how to avoid being spanked, I'm always clear about that. I spin him around, so he's facing the wall and pull the boxers and jeans he's wearing, down, to just below his ass cheeks, which still have a hint of yesterdays spanking. I don't worry about being quiet and hope he's concerned about whoever's around to hear him getting it, 'cause believe me they can hear and lay in sure slaps equally between both cheeks.

He tries to stay quiet, but I make it so can't for long. I'm waiting for the magic words. "Okay, Dals. I'm sorry. I can behave; talk like an adult, sir—ow!"

"I'm glad to hear it." I give him a few more before I let him right his clothing. He looks chastised, but it's hard to tell by how much. I seem to get that wrong sometimes. When he's back together (I didn't spank him long enough for tears) I take his hand and drag him out of the change room. We pass a lady, an older one. Judging from the look on her face, she heard the whole exchange. "Howdy ma'am," I say.

She waggles a finger in Chris's direction. "I heard that language you were using young man. I hope you got a good spanking for it."

Chris blushes. There's no way I can keep from smiling. "He did ma'am," I tell her and pull Chris away. She likely came from the generation who believed a good spanking was helpful when necessary. I laugh at him under my breath and he smiles back. I decide to put the jeans back and pull him straight out of the mall.

"Hey, where we going? I need clothes Dallas."

"I like seeing you in my stuff—looks good on you, darlin'."

"I need a suit for the end of the week."

"You saying I don't own a suit?"

"I'm saying you don't own a suit like what I need."

"We'll steal one of Cas's," I wink at him. I wait until we reach the car before I begin the conversation again. "Chris, you know it's not like that, with Axl."

"It is, Dals. It's either him or me, me or him. I'm sick 'a him."

He knows well how he can get Axl out of the picture forever. "Maybe it's time then, Chris. Do you think… Do you think you might be ready to talk to your father?" I'm approaching the topic gently enough, but it doesn't seem to matter how gentle I am, it's not a good topic.

"Yeah, maybe it is," he says surprising the Hell out of me. Oh. Didn't expect that. I smile inside my stomach. It's a warm feeling. He takes my hand. "I want to Dals."

The warm feeling plummets into icy oblivion. I can practically feel his apprehension. "Look, you don't gotta worry about Axl anyway. You know I'm true to you."

"Yeah, 'till we break up again."

"You planning on it, or somethin'?"

"We never plan on it Dals, it just happens. We kinda got a track record."

Hate to say it, but he's right. "Well that's my—my condition. I'll never even speak to the guy again if you don't want me to, but you gotta be mine Chris."

"I am yours, Dallas." He's exasperated.

"Yeah, we just can't get married." I can't hide my sarcasm and disappointment.

"Do we really have to go through this again? Is marriage really that important to yah?"

"It's not a deal breaker."

"But it's something you want."

"'Course I do," I say.

He let's out a frustrated sigh.

"I do wanna live with you at least, you gotta give me something, Chris."

I get the expected wince. "Sure Dals, but Father can't find out."

That one gets an actual face palm, complete with face scrub. "Well Cas is gonna and it'd be hard to keep that from him since you'd have to move here."

He laughs. "I can't move here Dals. What would be the point? I'll be gone to Texas most of the time."

"The point is, I'd know you were coming home, to me, eventually. I could look at your stuff and miss you."

"That just sounds stupid," he laughs. "Oh, you're serious. Well, dang."

"I don't think it's stupid," I say.

"Well it is. Why can't you move in with me? We'll never have to tell Castiel that way."

"That wouldn't negate us telling Cas. And I've got my practicum here."

"You're stupid smart, Dals. You could get another practicum anywhere," Chris says.

I look at our hands. Yeah. I could probably get another practicum. "Well see that's the thing, it's… well it's—"

"—Dean."

"Yeah. He's too young for me to leave him yet. I couldn't." I'm afraid to look up and meet his eyes. I just told the love of my life, the very jealous love of my life, that I've got someone else in my life more important than he is.

He threads his hand in mine. "Well here we are," he says.

"I'm sorry, darlin'."

"Don't be sorry for that Dals, I understand."

I nod. He pulls me in for a kiss. "Okay, fight over, especially since it's only about T minus an hour or so 'till our next one."

"We're not that bad," I murmur against his lips. "And much as I'd like to, we can't just end it, Chris. We've solved nothing."

"What's to solve? We can't move in, we can't get married."

"Axl and I aren't dating."

"Damn right. You and me are. That kid better keep his long-ass skating legs away from you if he knows what's good for him."

"And that's why he'll get sick 'a me anyway. He's not gonna wait around on us having a break up."

"No, but you want him to. You like knowing you have someone."

 _If I could count on you, I wouldn't need a someone waiting in the wings._ "I just want you, darlin', really."

"And you could have me, if I weren't so—" he cuts himself off shortly, looking up like he's been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. We have rules that go both ways and one of them, a big one, is the way he talks about himself.

"What was that, Sur?"

He looks at his hands. I've noticed Dean do that. Sometimes, I'd think Dean really is a Winchester by blood. "You need more, don'tcha, darlin'?"

"I don't want a third spanking in the space of twenty-four hours."

"No, but you need it." I reach out and grab his hand. "I can do that for you, Chris. I want to. I'm made for you."

He looks up with a Chris-grin; a grin mixed with mischief and happy-go-lucky all in one. "All right, but buy me lunch, first?"

"Nu-uh. No more 'a that. We're taking care of this now—we can have lunch after."


	10. Dallas Colt: Uncle, Top, All Around Amazing Guy (4)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So not only did I write this for Ibelieve333, but she helped me finish it. I was struggling with this fic, because I'm a perfectionist (disease) and there were so many pieces and the characters were all misbehaved. Bad. Bad characters. But Ibelieve was my cheerleader and gave me a peptalk worthy of the man himself (Cas Winchester). So thank you again Ibelieve333! I hope you've enjoyed this.

I am not looking forward to looking at Uncle Dal's face when he sees I'm sitting on the naughty spot. They don't call it that in preschool, 'cause they're all 'new-aged' and think it'll damage me, or some other bullcrap. But I know what it is, no matter how much they want to fucking sugar coat it. It's the naughty spot and I'm sitting here and waiting for Uncle Dal to come get me. He's going to be so disappointed. The preschool teacher's not nearly as forgiving as Miss Caulfield. When Uncle Dally comes to get me, I can barely look at him, though I do take a quick peek. He's got his white, short-sleeved button-up shirt on, the one with the crisp collar and the pocket on his left breast—he always carries an extra pick in there when he wears it. His sandy blonde hair falls to his shoulders now (I'm surprised Papa doesn't tell him to cut it) and even though he's not wearing his cowboy hat, I can picture it there. His eyes are concerned, they haven't pooled with gut-wrenching disappointment yet. I look down and fiddle with the string of my zip-up hoodie as he talks to my teacher and retrieves Tigger.

"C'mon Dean," he sighs. I trot along after him to where Uncle Chris is in waiting in the car; right away he knows something's up.

"What happened?"

Uncle Dal throws, that's right, _throws_ Tigger at Uncle Chris like he's just some stuffed animal. "That went to school and caused his usual ruckus," he says buckling me into the car.

"Dean," Uncle Chris frowns a little like Papa. "Maybe you'd better not hang-out with that cool-cat anymore, he's trouble."

Maybe he's right.

When we get home, Uncle Dal is all business. "'Scuse us Chris. Half pint, come with me, please."

I follow him to my room where he shuts the door and proceeds to sit on my bed. I know exactly what I'm about to get. Uncle Dal's not shy about correcting me. He's swatted my ass more than once—Colts may not be as fussy as Winchesters, but they definitely believe in spankings for naughty little boys and girls. But Uncle Dal's never done any more than that--a swat or three.

"I'm sorry Uncle Dally." Fuck. I've already got tears. I feel so fucking bad. Why did I listen to Tigger? Uncle Chris is right, he's trouble.

"I know you are, Dean. Thank you, but unfortunately, there are consequences. You deliberately disobeyed me and Papa."

The reality of that hits me. Fuck. What's Papa going to say?

I have the same nervous feeling in my belly, like just before getting a spanking from Papa. With Daddy it's different. He's faster too. There's not a lot of preamble with him. Papa takes more time. Sometimes it's so long before I'm actually being spanked, I just want to get it over with.

Uncle Dally doesn't lecture me near as long as Papa though and gets to the spanking part, slipping down my shorts and underwear this time. It's a fast spanking, several spanks to my bare ass, enough so I start to feel stinging but then I'm up and so are my pants and I'm clinging onto Uncle Dally, crying into his shoulder. The spanking didn't hurt, much. I feel more upset over what I did. I don't want Uncle Dally to think we're not friends anymore.

"I'm sorry I had to do that half pint, but I mean business. I expect you to obey me when I tell you to do something, y'hear?"

"Yes, sir Uncle Dal."

"All right, that's over. We're square. You're such an armadillo sometimes." He means pest, but fondly. "You feel better? Something tells me you needed that."

Needed that? Uncle Dally must be out of his tree. "I don't _need_ spankings Uncle Dally. No one needs them."

"Oh, I don't know about that half pint. I can think of several someones who do." He kisses my forehead.

I'm surprise to learn I do feel better. My bottom stings a little, but I'm, calm. _No way I'm telling him, though._

**

Papa's giving me that look and I can't look at him. My tummy swoops as I look at my hands. "I thought I was clear, Tigger's not to go to school."

I give a small, quick nod. I can still feel his cool blue eyes on me.

"I'm not pleased with the way you've been behaving for your uncle Dallas. I understand you've been punished, but if I hear of one more incident like this one, you and I will be chatting when I get home. I really don't want to have to spank you, as the first thing I do, after not having seen you for a week, but I will Mr. Winchester, if that's what you need."

I shake my head. "I don't Papa," I say to the floor. I feel Uncle Dally's hand in my hair, he pulls me into his sturdy Uncle Dally-leg.

"We talked, he's going to behave. We're going to have a good time from here on out. Aren't we half pint?"

I nod into Uncle Dally's pant leg feeling my face heat. I don't want to cry, but I don't like Papa's disappointed eyes on me like that. "Okay. Love you, son."

"L-love you, Papa," I say peeking my head out just a bit.

Daddy pops onto the screen. "Hey! There's my babe. Were you being a silly boy today?"

I nod and give a shy smile to Daddy.

"What happened?"

"Tigger wanted to come to school, Daddy."

"He did?"

"Yeah, but he got bored and started running around class when we were a 'sposed to be quiet."

"I see. What else did 'Tigger' do?"

"He, he pulled Chelsea's hair and he told Albert to pretend he was a hurricane and to make a big mess of the cloakroom." I don't know how he managed that one, but I have to admit it was pure genius. Tigger's trouble, but he's also a riot.

"Well Tigger had his fun, now he's an indoor cat," Uncle Dally tells Daddy, picking me up and setting me against the firm weight of his torso.

"Agreed," Daddy says. "He's been running amok. Now he's grounded."

Tigger's not going to like that, but even I agree. I'm sick of getting into trouble because of that guy. He's always throwing me under the bus too. Soon as an adult comes a long, he suddenly goes inanimate stuffy. Douche.

Daddy looks much more relaxed already and it looks like he's sipping some kind of fancy drink. "Okay baby boy, be good and listen to your uncle Dal. We'll see you soon."

We say bye to Daddy and Papa and head down to dinner.

**

Today's been a heck of a day and it ends with me having to talk to Father Winchester. I respect Clyde and I admire him, but that doesn't make him any less intimidating. He's one scary dude. An older version of Cas without a stitch of the Colt leniency. I'm sure Claire's softened him in her own way, but it's not in the same way Sam's softened Cas. And, uh, I think Claire likes Clyde every ounce of Alpha that he is.

Clyde always treated me with kindness and respect, I dare say he likes me, but like with Cas, I'm sure he's not going to hold back if he feels I need talking to. I made sure to call him via Skype, like we do with Dean—I didn't want him to think I was chickening out of facing him, but I woulda much rather just phone him, let me tell you.

"You did it," he says without asking any questions.

"How can you know that, sir?"

"I've been around a long time Dallas. I can see that something different in your demeanor. I still want you to tell me about it."

I tell him about Dean and pre-school and Tigger. Tigger. Sometimes I think that thing's real as Dean does. I should be upset with Dean, but instead I'm ticked at a stuffie. I couldn't look at him—it, all night and when I put Dean to bed I shook my finger at him. Chris saw and's still making fun.

Clyde surprises me with a laugh that's much like Cas's, only more sure and aged. "That Tigger, always up to something."

 _Does he think Tigger's real?_ "Sir?"

"Well never mind that. You did good, son, you did, but you still have a lot to learn, or Dean's gonna run you over—anyone like Dean will," he adds with a harumph.

Him saying stuff like that makes me uneasy. Is he only talking about Dean? I'm a big chicken and don't like to bring up Chris if he doesn't make me, saves me saying something Chris wouldn't like. On the other hand, I would love to ask Clyde everything. Cas is great, but Clyde knows his son in an out—I could do with some tips. Chris seems to be the only person who succeeds in driving me crazy.

Either way, I feel I'm being scolded. Like I did something else. I wish someone would tell me what. The past few days have felt like that—like I've done something wrong and everyone knows but me. "Yes, sir."

"Right then. When is it the boys are gettin' home?"

"Saturday morning, sir."

He nods. "Tell Castiel to call me, would you?"

I say that I will and we hang up. My whole body relaxes with approval—the chat with Clyde didn't go too badly. I sink onto one of Cas's couches and take five. As I do, I pull out my phone and call a friendly voice. Rose and I dated for a short time a few Christmases ago. We've always remained close friends.

"Dallas, hi."

She knows me well and can tell soon as I've said hello that I'm exhausted and troubled. "What now? Is it Chris again? Axl?"

"Both." I tell her what happened with the two of them, she laughs. "I'm glad you think that's funny."

"Of course it is. Your life is an exciting Soap Opera. My life's not nearly as adventurous."

"That's because you were smart and only fell in love with one man."

"Make no mistake. I love two men, but I was willing to let you go, so long as you remember I loved you first."

"You know I do."

"You do."

"Damn straight and that's why you're going to listen to every word I tell you, you listening Dallas Ethan?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"You keep setting Chris straight until he smartens up, long as it takes. You two are meant to be together. You know I like Axl," she does, we're all friends from college, she would come to all our concerts back when Axl and I were in a band together. "But he's not enough for you. You like the kinda challenge Chris is and it's not just that, Dally, you're hopeless for the guy."

Yeah. Yeah I really am. "You're right, Rose."

"I know I'm right."

I feel better once I'm off the phone with her and ready to call Axl. We haven't talked since last night. Axl's not the kind of guy who really _needs_ calling after boyfriend drama (he steers pretty clear of anything to do with boyfriends) but I call him because I feel I need to. He picks up on the second ring. It sounds like he's at a party. "Hey Dallas! Didn't think I was going to hear from you for a bit."

"You know I gotta call, make sure everything's okay?"

"Well I don’t like that I'm on a real losing streak, but everything's fine."

"Good, I'm sorry I—"

"You don't have to apologize to me. I'm the Canadian, remember? We say sorry," he laughs. There's a pause and I move to wrap up the conversation, but he starts speaking before I can. "Look Dallas, I want you to know, I really like you—you're special to me. I know you got it for this Cowboy, but maybe one day…"

"One day what?" Axl's never said anything, so sappy to me before. He's the anti-sap.

"Nothing. I'm being stupid. Anyway, we're cool. You know I don't settle down anyway, Chris is what you want. He is hot. If he changes his mind about the threesome thing, I'm totally game."

Now I'm laughing. "I don't think that's going to happen." I leave it at that, but I would not be opposed.

"Right. Take care of yourself, Dallas."

WEDNESDAY

I crawl my fingers over Sam's tanned, ply skin and trace a finger down to his belly button. "Mmm, Cas… again?" He's so exhausted, he can't even open his eyes to respond. I just spent the past several hours, fucking him over every piece of furniture in our suite.

"It's okay, sleep baby. I just want to touch you."

He smiles, eyes still closed. "You'd go again if I could—I don't know how you do it."

"Your fault. You're so god damn irresistible." I do want him to rest though. I'm far harder on him than he is on me. Sam can bite and claw and push when he wants to, but he'd much rather be manhandled. It's no easy feat for me though, let me tell you. Sam's big in all ways. I have to keep fit to give him what he likes. What we like. Still, I challenge him, get him to hold exhausting positions, drill into him without mercy.

Time in the sun has been good to him. Sam doesn't realize how the stress of looking after a little one affects him. It's good stress of course, but stress is stress no matter the origin. He needs time off whether he'll admit he does or not—he needs time to be an adult, uninhibited.

Other than the sex, I've also wined him and dined him. We've spent lots of time in the ocean, boogie boarding, jet skiing, we've taken long walks in the sand and talked about life both our life before Dean and the one with Dean. Everything is happy.

After he doses for fifteen minutes, he stirs, reaching out to cup my cheek. "Thanks for this vacation, Cassy. You were right. You're always right. I needed this. I miss my little monster, but he's a handful and I do need time off—I feel guilty saying that."

"I know. It's also why I have to drag you, literally and kicking and screaming." It took me a full two days to get him sorted.

"That part was a little fun, wasn't it?" his eyes pout up at me, shyly.

"For me, maybe. I'm not sure your poor ass would say the same."

He removes the hand from my cheek and pushes my shoulder, playfully. "Yeah maybe not my butt, but another place liked it."

I pull his naked body into mine. It's hot, but we're still partially tangled in a single sheet. The sweet smelling air drifts over us and makes our tired bodies feel good. I hate to break the tranquility of the moment, but while we may be vacationing from parenthood, we're still parents and I should update him. "I talked with Dallas while you were in the shower."

"How? You were in the shower too."

"Before that. He's… rough. My brother just had to show up."

"The things Dean does aren't Chris's fault," Sam says.

"I know. I just know he's still figuring Chris out and spending a whole week with Dean was a big deal to him. He really wanted to do a good job."

"He's doing a fine job. In fact, I think Tigger's more trouble than the two of them, it'll be good for Dal if he wants a child and a Chris."

Sam's right. "Okay, enough home chat then. What's next on the agenda?"

"How about lunch at that place with the good Mai Tai's you like?"

"Sounds good, but you know what Mai Tais make me want to do to you."

"The wind changes direction this vacation and you want to fuck me Cas. I've accepted that," he laughs. "C'mon. Let's go. Maybe after a few there are gonna be things I'll want to do to you."

THURSDAY

We make it to Thursday. Barely. It's the reason Dean's managed to recover his soother from me (Michael is nauseated with me over that fact, but he's one to talk when it comes to giving Dean stuff). Speaking of Michael, who's here for breakfast, he looks terrible. I can't believe what a disaster this has been so far, I'm trying to figure out how I've managed to make such a mess 'a things.

"Would you like me to watch over him today at school, Dallas?" Michael asks. "I can do it without being seen."

That's tempting, but as much as Michael can help, he can hinder. The two of them are like siblings sometimes with the way they fight. "Dean's been behaving himself after we talked about it."

"With all due respect, he's five. He could be distracted by anything at any moment."

"Will not!" Dean says.

"You might," Michael says.

"No I won't!"

"All right you two, enough," I say. How does Sam do this everyday? A Dean and an angel. "Dean's gonna be fine, but you know Michael, I don't think you are. How about you hang with Chris and I today?"

"What? That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."

You know? I'm getting real tired of everyone speaking back to me like that. Unfortunately for Michael, he's the straw—the one that broke the camel's back. "Well that's your future cowboy."

His mouth drops. "B-but, that's so unfair. I have things I have to get done today."

"For your father?"

"Well no, but—"

"Then it's settled. It's only a couple of hours and you're just going to be here after school anyway."

He crosses his arms and slouches in his seat like a moody teen. "Anyone else have anything to say?" I ask.

Chris holds his hands up in supplication. "I was already standing for breakfast one morning, you're not gonna hear a peep outta me, sir."

I look to Dean who holds his arms out to me. I bring a cloth over on my way to pick him up, wiping off his messy hands before I do. "I'm gonna be a good boy, Uncle Dally."

I kiss his forehead. "I know you are half pint."

"Are you gonna spank Michael?"

It's hard not to laugh. "Not if he behaves himself."

"I'm not the one who took my stuffie to class."

"That was a long time ago, Michael," Dean says.

"It was three days ago," Michael says.

I put Dean on my hip and run a hand through Michael's hair trying to calm him down. "We're just teasing. You coming with Chris and I is not you bein' punished darlin', I'm worried about you."

He doesn't say it in words, but his whole body relaxes and I know he's soothed. Chris catches on. "Why don't you come with me cowboy? I can get you dressed and we can make sure Tigger's under lock and key," he says to Dean.

Dean goes easily to his uncle Chris. "Yeah, an' an' he can't sneak into my backpack like before—bad Tigger."

Chris laughs a lot like Cas does, but lighter. His laughter trickles out of the room as walks away, tossing Dean in the air and making him giggle. At least two of my boys are happy. "What's going on, Michael?"

"Nothing except I'm being taken prisoner against my will."

It hits me suddenly, how much Michael must be missing Sam and Cas—yeah even Cas. Especially Sam though. Sam has a special way of balancing Top-types, a way they don't even notice. I've been so distracted, it took me this long to figure Michael out, but I see it clearly now. I may not have Sam's methods, I'm definitely a poor substitute, but I'm a Colt and I can help in our signature Colt way if he'll let me. "What's going on, Michael?"

The angel actually bites his lip. I can't recall if I've ever seen Michael do that before. Then he picks at his thumbnail. "You haven't got the chance to talk to Sam yet, how about we call him while Dean gets ready?" I say.

"I'm not a child."

"I think Sam would disagree."

Michael stops picking at his thumb, his eyebrows turn down in a glare so icy I almost shiver, but I don't back down. "You know it's true, Sur. If you want to talk to me, I'm all ears, but if you need Sam we'll call him."

Silence and then, "but he's on vacation." He doesn't look up and I think he wishes he could vanish.

"He'll be happy to hear from you." I've already got my cell out and am dialing. He picks up on the first ring.

"Dally? Everything okay?"

"Yep. Someone needs to talk to you."

**

When Papa Winchester first announced they'd be going away, it irked me. Why? I had no idea. I scolded Dean mercilessly over his upset and told him he was ridiculous, but when I arrived to find the house with two Winchesters less, my gut… it wrenched okay? It fucking wrenched. That alone sent me spiraling. Why should my gut wrench? Why should I care? I don't like the humans. Do I? I'm here for Dean and Dean alone.

But then I had an _attack_ without Sam here—it's also when I first noticed I was out of sorts at all. Why should I feel different? Given, the _attacks_ began when Dean walked into my life and I've experienced them ever since, you'd think I'd have learned how to deal with them by now, but I had no idea how much Daddy Winchester helped me through them. None, until this week. Dallas didn't know what to do. He did his best, but much as he won't admit it, he's a top-type; he couldn't balance me properly. The younger Winchester was helpful, but I'll admit it, I needed Sam. Sam somehow helps me. I feel out of sorts. I'm more irritable than usual and being without Dean doesn't help, even though when I'm with him, I'm cranky and mean.

And I do have stuff going on. Stuff not related to Dean.

When Dallas began dialing Sam's number, I wanted to tear the phone from him and throw it at his head. I didn't. I hesitated long enough for him to call and hand me the phone. "Sweetheart?" Sam says. Dean. He must think I'm Dean.

"Actually, it's me Mr. Winchester."

He laughs. His laugh makes me _feel_. It's a bright feeling of comfort and, I can't believe I'm saying this, _home_. "Well I know that corn muffin."

"I'm not corn muffin."

He keeps laughing, but says, "Okay Michael. What's going on?"

"I…" I pick at the sleeve of my jacket. "When are you coming home?" Stupid. That was stupid. I know when they're coming home, I just have no idea what the fuck to say. I don't know how to make small talk; I just want to keep hearing his voice.

"Saturday," he says not mentioning the fact I know that. "C'mon now Michael. Spill."

"I don't want to say." I also want to say that he can't make me, but he can. He always does somehow. I don't bother getting into all of that now, with him so far away.

"Do I have to fly home, Sur?"

"No. Fine. Dammit!" I slam my fist against the table. "My father has been angry."

"Did he, aw sweetheart, did he beat you?"

I cover the phone as if Dallas might hear, which is crazy. He doesn’t have the hearing I do, but he is watching me closely. And why is Daddy Winchester asking that so callously. "N-not yet," I whisper.

"Michael you're, scared."

"No."

"I'm coming home."

"No don't! This is the reason I didn't want to talk to you about it." A hand lands gently on my shoulder, feeling large and consuming. Dallas of course. It is calming in the same way Sam is calming. Must be the Colt in him and it can't hurt that I'm talking to Sam.

"Then start telling the truth, Sur," Sam says.

"Yeah, I'm scared. Okay? I'm walking on eggshells around him," and I really must be to use human sayings like that one, "Things aren't going well for him, things I'm not at liberty to say." He thought he had a lead on an item that could get him back into Heaven; instead he lost several angels. "See? It's not like there's anything you can do about it."

"I can worry about you, sweetheart."

"What good does that do?"

"You can know that someone cares and I think that does a lot of good."

"Not for you though. It's stress upon your organs and organ systems." I've made sure to expand my knowledge over the years about humans. I know this about them. They worry over people and things until they get sick with it. Of course, there are still things I can't seem to figure out, like I know that Dean needs to be fed and watered, but figuring out the timing of that is difficult. I've worked out that a bad mood could mean low-blood sugar and therefore crankiness, which food seems to cure. But sometimes his crankiness is due to needing sleep and sometimes it's just because he's decided to be a brat. It's too damn confusing.

"Be careful Michael, or I'm going to start to think you care about me," he teases.

"When you're unhappy, Dean's unhappy."

"Okay Michael. But I'm really glad you called me."

I don't point out that Dallas technically called him for me and he launches into all the things they've done on their trip, while I listen. Avidly. He's careful to tell me how many precautions they've taken in each activity and he even mentions the use of sunscreen when appropriate. "Okay, your turn," he says when he's done.

"My turn? Do I have to do this?"

"You'll feel better. Tell me what you and Dean have been up to."

He already knows, so this is stupid, but I don't want to argue so I tell him everything beginning from Dean at Godly Play, okay no I don't, I begin from Dean being torn up about them leaving. "It wasn't so hard when you were here, but when you were gone it was, difficult." I move on to them leaving and I wasn't there to say goodbye because my father wouldn't let me out of the house. "Not a call did I get, Sam." Even I'm surprised at how accusing I sound. "Then there was Godly Play and Dean acting up because you two were gone and nothing I could do about it. I tried to deal with it myself," I remember the number of times I bathed Dean (three), "but Dallas put an end to that and left me with the kitchen. The kitchen!" Yes I know he can hear me. "Do you think that was sufficient after all that?"

"No, I don't Michael, add in the stuff with your father and we have—"

"An angel going insane."

"Okay Michael, it's okay. I know you know this, but Dallas didn't mean to let it get like this. He didn't know."

It's worse when they all go to Texas, I don't say. Heaven forbid he ask me more questions. "I'm sorry I wasn't there Michael, to help. Did the kitchen help a little?"

"A little."

"I can't help with your father, but I'll be home soon and if he does anything to you, Dallas can step in for me, in fact, you let him help you if you need it, Sur. That's an order."

"Yes, sir."

"I really thought you were okay Michael. I should have known better. I should have left Dallas instructions."

"I don't need looking after."

By the time we're hanging up I have to admit to feeling better. I didn't realize how much their absence has affected me. Even Castiel's energy somehow brings balance to the force. Dallas is on me immediately, pulling me out of my seat and _hugging_ me. "I'm sorry cornbread."

Cornbread? Corn muffin? What is it with these two?

He's consoling me, but he's the one crying. "I'm sorry there isn't more we can do, honey."

I allow him to _hold_ me, but I do not _sink_ into the hug, like I might for Sam. This is not the first hug he's given me, I'm certain it won't be the last; if I give him the impression I _enjoy_ the hugging, it will only increase the frequency. Thankfully he pulls himself together in time for Dean and Christian to return. Dean'll wonder why his uncle Dally is crying. I _do not_ want to have to explain that. "What took y'all so long?" Dallas asks.

"Uh, well that is, we had some trouble picking clothes then it took a while in the bathroom with peeing and washing and then I had to change and—"

"Did you two have a water fight?" Dallas asks them.

"Yeah, we did Uncle Dally!"

Oh sure he lets that go, but makes me call Sam and confines me to their company for the day.

"All right, everyone in the car, that means you too Michael," Dallas says, no doubt on high alert over me now. _I'm not getting out of this._ He double checks Dean's back pack to make sure Tigger didn't find his way inside.

"Fine. Come along Dean," I say and hold out my hand for him. At least if I get him ready to go, I can make sure he's wearing the right shoes.

"Uh, just a sec there half pint. Soother, please."

"But I, I can have it back later, after school, right Uncle Dal?"

"Yeah. You can have it back after school."

 _Outrageous._ But I don't don't say so. I can't honestly say I have the heart to pry it from him either.

THURSDAY NIGHT

"Rubber ducky, you're the one. You make bath time so much fun! Rubber ducky I'm awfully fond of yo-ou." I sing to Dean, making him laugh while Chris watches on amused (though he's been quiet this evening) and Michael, arms crossed, leaning against the wall looking disgusted with all the joy.

Chris and I 'made him have fun today.' Turns out Chris and Cas, though close in measurements, do not replicate each other precisely enough to pull off the other's suits. Not for work anyway. And not for a Winchester. Chris said he'd wear it like it was (loose in the chest, tight around the biceps) to a wedding, or something, but not work. So we took (read dragged) Michael with us to the Suit Store, had something custom-made then grabbed a bite in a restaurant nearby. Chris paid dearly to have the person making his suit complete it by tonight and drop it by first thing tomorrow morning.

Got to hand it to Winchesters. They know how to get stuff done, or I guess they have the money to get stuff done and the charm. He even convinced me to get something, which he wouldn't let me pay for. Also being dropped off in the morning. I got something a little more me though. It's got a short-waist jacket, so any fancy belt buckle I might be wearing can be seen and coat tails. The pants sit nicely a top my boots.

We made Michael get something too. We made a big deal fussing over him and wouldn't stop 'till he picked something _and_ smile. Well, a quarter smile. He was having fun even if he never admits it. He's getting a blazer, no surprise, but we did talk him into a midnight blue versus his usual navy.

The poor staff of the Suit Store. They're going to be up all night.

Dean's still giggling. "I like that song, Uncle Dally."

"I know. That's why I'm singing it," I say and poke him in the belly.

Chris holds a towel out and I lift Dean into it, so Chris can bundle him up. The four of us head into the fort in Dean's room, which we've slowly added additions to, throughout the week. Chris dresses him as I fix up his blankets and pillow. Michael heads over to chose him a book. As reward for putting up with Chris and I at the suit place, I said he could put Dean to bed tonight.

"I want the story about the pasta lady," Dean demands.

Michael scowls at him. "You mean _Strega Nona_?"

"Yeah."

"Say please, or I'm picking the story. I think I'd like to read all about what happens to little boys who don't use their manners."

"I don't have to listen to you, Michael."

"Enough you two. Michael get the gosh darn book. Dean, you really do need to use your manners, now please."

"Sorry, Uncle Dally. Pretty please Michael?" Dean says, complete with the Dean eyes.

Michael pretends he's not affected, but I can see he is. His body relaxes, it's a small amount of relaxation, a Michael amount, but it does relax. His lips pull into a tight line, but his eyes soften; eyebrows settle comfortably. He pulls out _Strega Nona_.

I give Dean a big kiss on his forehead. "Aren't you gonna kiss Tigger and Fin, Uncle Dally?"

I guess I have to, but I'm still a little ticked at Tigger. Yes. The stuffed animal. 'Tigger' fed Pala grapes, which we found out the hard way are not good for dogs and apparently (according to Dean, which is according to Tigger) Fin and Tigger argue, which resulted in 'Fin getting the stuffing knocked out of him,' or in other words, Fin's fin was ripped open and I had to employ my sewing skills to perform emergency surgery. The last bit wasn't so bad (other than Chris calling me Dally Stewart and Martha Colt) but what worried me is I found myself thinking maybe Tigger was jealous of Fin. Lordy bee. I'm worried about the bromellow drama of two stuffed animals.

"Good night Tigger and Fin—behave yourselves, Fin's still healing," I say.

Next Chris comes in for some goodnight hugs and kisses. "Tell Tigger that orca is not to be trusted," he says and I swat his ass for that one—he laughs. "Okay, okay. No fightin' but I still say I trust Tigger more than the orca, that's saying something."

"Out you," I say to Chris.

Michael slides into the fort and Dean starts to squish into him, trying to find a comfortable spot. "Must you do this every time?"

"I hafta get com _fit_ able Michael."

"Com _fort_ able, and watch the special parts. I may be an angel, but it still doesn't feel nice getting kicked in the nads by some over-active five-year-old."

"Please don't kill each other you two," I say, too exhausted to care if they do or don't.

"We won't Uncle Dally, I'm com _fit_ able," he says giving Michael a cheeky smile.

"Speak for yourself," Michael says. "I've got a giant leech attached to me." 

"Okay, goodnight. Text me when you've left Michael, so I can lock up behind you." The last shot I get of them as I'm closing the door is Michael with an arm around Dean, holding open the book, his chin on the crown of Dean's head (comfortably, like it belongs there) and Dean curled into Michael's torso, rumpling his crisply-ironed shirt.

Chris is in the hall where I shooed him, his playful eyes are serious now, the air around him is heavy. "Chris?"

"C'mon, Dals," he says nocking his head sideways and taking my hand.

He pulls me to my bedroom and sits me on the bed so our knees are touching. I don't know what Chris is going to say, but I know it's not good, my heart's beating so fast. "Chris, start talking."

"I've been thinking."

"No kidding—that why you were so quiet through dinner?"

"Yeah. Kinda. I, look Dals you gotta let me say this before I can't, just let me—don't interrupt, okay?"

I don't nod and I don't answer, I just give him hard eyes that say to proceed.

"I think we need to do things different than we've been doing them. I can't—us breaking up, you coming home, things being left like they were did things to me Dals. I couldn't think, or sleep, hell I couldn't piss right. I knew I'd fucked up, I really thought I'd lost you forever."

"We sorted that out."

"What did I say about interrupting me?"

"I never agreed to that. It sounds like you're breaking up with me Christian Winchester, if you are, just cut to the chase. I don't know why you bothered running here like a fool if you're just…"

"Stop making assumptions. This is why I said—would you just listen already?"

I nod this time. I don't think I can speak anymore anyway.

"I've been thinking about everything you said—I actually do listen even if I'm stubborn and it takes me awhile. What I reckon is I'm getting a whole lot more out of this relationship than you are presently. You work so hard to give me what I need."

"You're working at it too." _Yeah, I already broke the no talking rule again, sue me._

"Yeah, but Dals, I'm gonna be honest, when I'm with you, I seem to be able to forget about, well about… I can't even say it. Hell Dals, much as I love being with you, love you I just…"

"You hate what you like. You hate you."

"I don’t hate me, exactly, but I do hate part of me, yeah."

"Same difference."

"If you say so, fine. I hate me then. And talking to my father when I feel this way? It ain't gonna happen. This point, I don't know if it ever will and there are things you want Dals—it ain't fair to you."

My vision's getting hazy, unshed tears burning in my eyes. Why isn't he more broken up over breaking up with me?

"I can't believe I'm actually saying this, but," he sighs, "I want you to date Axl."

"What? Not only are you breaking up with me, you're _giving_ me away to the person whose face you'd like to smash?"

"Can't deny it. I would smash it, if you let me, but that's a side point. I'm not breaking up with you, we're not broken up in fact this way, we never have to break up again."

"You're gonna have to spell it out for me Chris, I'm lost."

"I'm saying, let's have one of those 'open-relationships.'"

"How we gonna do that? This whole mess started with your Winchester jealousy."

"Aha! You do have a problem with it."

"Not a problem, it's just intense Chris. I already explained how I feel."

"Whatever it is to you, you're right. It's something I do have at least some modicum of control over. I don't like thinking about you with others, we're gonna have to make more rules for this to work, number one being we don't talk about anyone else we're with to the other, but I think this is best for us 'till the rest can be sorted out. My theory is, if I know I've got competition then I think there's some kinda chance I'll smarten up, eventually."

_Maybe._

"But when I'm with you, I'm with you. I come visit, we're us, just us—I'm not ever having a threesome with Puckhead, unless you want to see me castrate him."

I laugh. "No darlin', no threesomes." I wipe away the tear from my eye, which finally freed itself. I'm relieved, but I feel like there's a space inside me. Chris is close to me, yet always that little bit out of reach. "You sure this is the way it has to be?"

"'Fraid so cowboy. I don't see any other way for now. I can't stand thinking I've lost you forever."

"And what if I do find someone to settle down with, huh? You expect me to wait on you?"

"No. That's why I'm doing this. If you find someone else, you find someone else—I doubt it though," he says with his Chris-grin. "I'm gonna work on me and, you're still gonna help me?"

I nod biting my lip, because I don't know if I can help. I don't seem to be turning up any roses in that department these days. "I'm gonna try."

"Oh no you don't, I know that look Dals. You do help me. I needed this. Fact? It was all those spankings that cleared my head enough I could see this, so clear. This is gonna be good. It can't take me too long to figure my shit out, can it?"

"I don't know Chris, but I'll do my best. My vote is for us—I chose us." I'm crying again.

"C'mon Dals, don't cry. I chose us too. This is me choosing us. That look on your face before you left, I don't ever want to see that again. I've seen it one too many times in my lifetime."

"What look was that?"

"Like, your whole world crumbled. I did that. I never want to do that to you again."

I can understand that. I've seen a similar look on his face when I've broken up with him; even when he's broken up with me. I give him a firm nod. "Okay, Winchester. I'm in. What rules you thinking we need for this?"

"That's the spirit!"

"Well I have one off the top of my head I want to start with, seeing as you seem to be able to talk me into anything." I pull him on top of me.

"Yeah? What's that?" he says.

"You need a spanking you come to me. I mean, I know there's gonna be your daddy too, but no one else—none of those Dom houses you were going to before."

"Where you been, Dals? I haven't been to one of those in years."

"Yeah, I know, but this is… we're gonna be different now. I just wanted to make sure."

"Not different. The same, but better."

We make love all night after that. Slow and fast. Rough and gentle. Both of us wanting to leave our impressions on the other. At the end of several long rounds, when we're snuggling, naked, tangled together, I have a thought. "Rose isn't going to like this," I tell him.

"Who's Rose?"

"You know Rose, you met her."

"Right, the cute one—her, I'd let her in with us for a night if she's intah that. Oughta make her 'like this' more."

I laugh. Bet Rose would like that. "We'll see darlin'," I say running my hand through his hair and kiss his soft mouth. "I have a feeling, I'm gonna want you all to myself for a little while."

FRIDAY NIGHT

I'm lying in bed. Uncle Dally just kissed me goodnight, but I can't seem to fall asleep, so I've been lying here thinking about stuff. My parents come home tomorrow and much as I'm happy about that (they're never fucking leaving for this long again—we can talk about weekend getaways, but none of this week-long bullshit) I've really enjoyed being with Uncle Dally—just us. Well, just us, Michael, Uncle Chris, Pala, Tigger and now Fin.

Uncle Dally's stern, but fun. I figured out what lines you can cross with him and which ones you can't.

Uncle Chris left while I was at pre-school. He said goodbye and that he'd see me soon, guess that means he's planning on coming by more often. I thought that would make Uncle Dally real happy, but he's not. He's not sad either, but he's not his usually happy-go-lucky self. How do I know? Because I can tell this kind of shit. I watch these people all the time, especially seeing as they always try to hide it from me when they're sad—they don't want me to worry.

I say fuck that. They always help me when I'm sad, I can help when they are too, so when I notice something's up, I take action. Something's definitely up with Uncle Dally and I don't know what, but I think I can fix it. I do it for Papa all the time.

Tigger's lying back on the bed soaking up moonrays. He says they help his bounce, but I question that. After this weekend, I'm questioning a lot of shit he says. I'm pretty sure he means well, but it never ends well for me. I take the rap for his big ideas and I think Uncle Dally likes him about as much as Michael does, he's just less vocal. "Hey, Tigger," I whisper, pulling the soother out of my mouth. "Would you be okay here by yourself tonight?" Him and Fin have an uneasy relationship, (I can't hear Fin, but that's what Tigger told me) so I put Fin to bed on the other side of the fort just to be sure.

He doesn't answer.

"Tigger," I say a little louder shaking him where's he's set up under the moonlight. "Tig."

"Oh, uh, sorry kid. Reception's gettin' a little fuzzy. Yeah I'll be fine here doing what Tigger's do best and I think to be on the safe side, we should say goodbye."

"Goodbye? But I don't want you to go." I can't keep the choked quality out of my voice.

"C'mon kid. None of that. I'd stay with you if I could, I'll keep trying to come back, but I don't exactly have control over these things."

I sniffle and nod.

"Besides, you don't need me. Not really—but I swear kid, if you ever do need me, like need me, need me I'll find a way back somehow."

I have no idea what he means by any of that.

"You won't though. You gotta a pretty sweet set up. Not much to do except…"

He's quiet again. "Tigger no! Don't go."

"Sorry, like I said don't know how much longer I have, wind's in the West buddy... Just don't be too good and punch Fin in the teeth for me okay?"

He said that to make me laugh and he does. "I love you Tigger," I say in case he's gone and I don't get to hear him again.

"Love you too, pal. Bang-a-rang. Give me a squeeze every now and again, won't you?"

Fuck now I'm leaking like a sieve. "Lots and lots." I squeeze him and he squeezes me back, but soon he's not anymore and I know Tigger's gone. "Bang-a-rang, Tigs." I pet his head and kiss his nose then set him up so he can still get moonrays even though he's gone. I leave him alone in the dark. Pala follows me out the door.

I don't know what time it is, but I have a feeling Uncle Dally will be in his room, so I go there. It's dark, but the door is cracked and I know I'm always welcome at anytime night or day. My original plan was to comfort him, but I think I need him to make me feel better first. "U-Uncle Dally?" I say before coming in.

"Half Pint? You okay? C'mere."

He opens the covers and I run to hop up on the bed and snuggle in with him, Pala makes herself at home beside the bed. I cry into Uncle Dally's chest. "What's the matter?"

"Tigger's gone."

"He is? Where did he go?"

"Don't know. Just away. I can't hear him no more." That does it, now I'm really crying.

"Shh…" He runs a hand through my hair and down my back until I eventually calm down. "There now. It'll be fine. What about Fin? You got him too. Is he still around?"

"Don't know. Tigger was the only one who could hear him. Tigger told stories sometimes, I think he was making it up about Fin." Thinking of Tigger's antics makes me smile.

"Yeah, he was a character, but he was a good friend to you, wasn't he?"

"Yeah."

"I remember one time when you littler, you and Tigger made mud pies in the backyard then tracked mud into the house. Pala was involved somehow, it was a huge mess!" he says tickling my belly.

I laugh. "That's what Tigger's do best Uncle Dally."

"Cause mischief?"

He tickles me some more and showers me with kisses on my face and belly. I giggle so hard it hurts and feels good at the same time. But my laugh makes him laugh and that's what feels best of all. Maybe Uncle Dally will stop being sad.

"Well you know, I could use a friend tonight anyway. How about you sleep here with me? There's a song in it for you."

Like I haven't already decided I'm sleeping here. But I never turn down a song from Uncle Dally. He hugs me to him a little tighter than usual pulling in a deep breath and I think when he breaths out, he's feeling just a little better. So I pop my soother back in (of course I brought it with me) and listen to Uncle Dally's sleek voice as I drift off to sleep.

SATURDAY

"Were you a little Turkey for your uncle Dally?" Dean's comfortable in my lap not going anywhere. He's been telling me stories of everything he and his Dally did while we were gone. We're sitting outside at the table having snacks and drinking beers. Cas and I are so relaxed, it feels like we're still on vacation.

"A little bit. Uncle Chris was here and we builded forts and ate ice cream."

"You did? Sounds like you didn't miss me at all."

"I did Daddy and you too Papa."

"You did? If that's the case then do I ever get a turn to sit with Dean?" Cas says.

"You do Papa. You have to wait your turn."

Cas pretends to pout, except I can tell it's a little for real. "I will wait patiently Dean 'Chester."

"Good boy, Papa," Dean says. We all laugh.

Eventually, Cas convinces Dean to play a welcome home game of airplanes with him and Pala. I'm left with Dal and Michael. "So, he's happy, how are you two?" I know they all were relieved to see us. Cas and I have more responsibilities than just Dean.

Michael doesn’t answer betting on Dal to go first and he does. "It was rocky at first, but I found my way. Chris being here really helped with that."

"Michael?"

"I'm fine now that… look I'm glad you're back, okay? Let's not make a thing about it."

"Did your father…?"

"No. Lots of yelling and threats, things were broken, but thankfully not my skin and bones. He's losing his touch."

" _Michael._ "

"Lucky for me he's losing his touch?"

Does he really not know? "I'm glad you're okay, sweetheart. I'd sure like a hug."

"I know that's just your ploy to give me a hug. You can forget it."

Actually, it's not. I'd like to hug him and make us both feel safe. But I won't push him anymore. I already made him talk.

"Let's go out for lunch," Cas says, coming back out of breath from his and Dean's game. "I'm buying."

"I think Dallas has had enough Dean time Cas."

"Enough Dean time? There's no such thing. Let me change my shirt," he says leaving.

"I'll take this guy and put something nice on him for lunch," Cas says, throwing Dean up in the air. Dean giggles. Pala follows them, she'll be disappointed when she finds out she's not invited.

I stand up to follow, but I'm suddenly gripped by a wild, unbreakable force.

Michael.

He's hugging me, around my waist, his long body curled into me. Soon as I realize what he's doing, I wrap my arms around him. I run fingers through his hair. "You know," sniff, "because you needed it," he says.

"I do sweetheart. I do."

**

I survived my first week alone with Dean and you know? I think if they wanted to make this an annual thing, I'd be all right with that. Him crawling in with his uncle Dal was the best thing. Chris leaving was hard this time. I know he promised to come back soon, but things feel uncertain. I should feel good. Anything's got to feel better than we have been doing. I'm just being a big baby. I'm just glad Dean didn't catch me crying last night. Soothing him over his friend leaving was the perfect distraction. And you know? Chris is right. We can't keep going like we're going. Clyde's right about something too, he didn't out right say it, but I'm not ready to take on Chris full time. I've got work to do on me. He needs a real Top, not just some half assed stand in. Until I can do that, I've got no business asking to move in with me anyway.

_Knowing all that doesn't do a thing to patch up my hurting heart._

It's a nice day, so I dig to the back of my closet to pull out some of my nicer summer wear (Cas likes to take out a well dressed family) and I stumble across some clothing that's got a note pinned to it. As I remove the note, I realize it's been pinned to a shirt that isn't mine. It's Chris's. The same blue and white-checkered shirt he arrived in—the one that's the same blue as his eyes. I unfold the note:

_"Dals. Something you can look at to miss me and stuff, you big dumb sap. I'll see you soon. Love always, Chris._

Any doubts I have, are suddenly gone. Washed away, unlike his shirt, which is not washed and smells like him. I pull the shirt on and let his scent surround me.

"Uncle Dal! Uncle Dal! You comin'? We're waiting for you." Dean barges in without knocking and freezes full stop when he sees me.

"What did I tell you about screeching in the house, Dean Winchester?" Cas says coming in to swoop up the little trespasser. Wait just a darn minute... I know Dean usually gets a tap to the bottom for screeching, Cas _really_ doesn't like it, but all he gets is the mild scolding. It's well known Cas spoils Dean, but this moment feels underlined for me, bolded and in italics. Cas is one of the best tops I know and even he's prone to leniency from time to time. _Maybe... maybe. Maybe_

"Not to, Papa, but look Uncle Dally's got his groove back."

"Where did you learn that from?" Cas asks.

"Tigger used to say stuff like that," Dean says.

"Used to?" Cas looks at me.

"Tigger went away," I shrug.

"I just saw Tigger on your bed, kiddo."

"I know, Papa. That's just his body," he rolls his eyes. "Do I have to explain everything to everybody?"

Cas is staring at me and trying not to freak out. I don't have much for him because after this week, the Tigger-thing freaks the bejeezus out of me too. "C'mere half pint I need another special hug from you." Dean comes to me readily.

"Hey, I feel like I'm getting jipped around here, how come I get hardly any Dean time?" Cas complains.

"You have to share Papa."

"Okay. But only with Daddy and Uncle Dally."

"And Michael."

"I don't think so, not today," Cas says tickling his belly. "It's too bad Michael can't go to wherever it is Tigger did," Cas whispers low so only I can hear.

I can't keep from laughing and let loose a big roaring chuckle.

"That's better Uncle Dally. I'm glad you're okay now," Dean says in my ear as we all head downstairs.

"What you talking about, half pint?"

"Whatever made you sad." He kisses my cheek.

How could he know? Between this and the Tigger, I'm spooked… but then I realize, how could he not know? Dean's special. Of course he knows and yes, I'm biased. Like everyone else in this family, I think Dean's the greatest thing to ever exist. "Well, you're right. Everything is okay. More than. Everything's as is should be."

"Actually Dallas, I hate to bring this up now, but things are not as they should be. Dean seems to be operating under the impression that daytime use of his soother has returned. You know anything about that?"

Crap. "Uh, yeah Cas there's a real good story surrounding that, can't wait to tell you all about it."

"Neither can I, Dallas. Neither can I."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of all the places I could have cried in this fic, I got all choked up over the Tigger part! Damned lovable, douchebag stuffie!


	11. Through a Different Lens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Believe me when I say this was not what I wanted to write, but what wanted to be written. *sighs* 
> 
> Mock had this whole thing she was gonna do, where the whole "chapter" was Dean seen through everyone else's eyes, 'till the end. Then it became a bit of a Michael study. Now? I'm not sure wtf it is, but I hope it's entertaining. It kinda feels like an after school special, but you know with all the controversial items I usually write about. It does fill in some gaps and shows the "before Lucifer kiboshed Michael being with Dean" hope they once had before it crumbled to shambles. 
> 
> A huge thanks to [Majesticduxk](http://archiveofourown.org/users/majestic_duck/pseuds/majesticduxk) for saving my life on this TS. Seriously, it was about to get binned and it was making me crazy. She helped big time _and_ beta'd. Thank you darling  <3 And also thank her for the spanking scene, something she said inspired ;) 
> 
> **Warning:** This chapter may or may not have triggers. See End notes for details.

When Dean Winchester smiles everyone stares, like, pretty much the whole Bistro. It's hard not to, he's so freaking sunny and beautiful. He's surrounded by his hockey friends, all of them mesmerized while he tells them a story. I don't think they care if it's a good story or not, they just want to hear him say words. He's animated and looking gorgeous in his maroon hockey jacket with the white leather sleeves and the large "W" over his left sleeve, while he eats breakfast. I don't play hockey, but now I'm wishing I did, so I'd have an excuse to sit near him right now.

He flicks his head, an otherwise unremarkable movement he does often (yeah it's creepy but I've noticed) to get the long bit of hair out of his green eyes, but when Dean does it, everyone sighs inside, just a bit, knowing if only subconsciously, the true beauty they're witnessing—and their horny teenage penises are getting hard whether they're into boys or not. I know mine is. And the best thing about Dean? He doesn't even know how dazzling he is.

I have gotten to play tennis with Dean a little. He's good at that too. He comes here, to the club, with his parents a lot—looks great in that white tennis gear. Everyone's always vying for his attention; a little kid wanting to play ball, a parent wanting to make sure they're on the Winchester's radar (they're always making big donations my mom was saying) or another teen hoping for just a dew drop of Dean's time. Hell, they'll take one of his bright smiles.

Today the man of envy is Keith. Keith leans into Dean, I think they're dating or _something_ and all the other boys get visibly jealous. I'm sure they can't all like him-like him (though this is Dean we're talking about, they very well could) but whether they do or not isn't why they're jealous. They all like hanging out with Dean and feel special when they get his attention, even for a second. It feels empty when you don't have it.

Dean leans into Keith, but only for a second—enough to show interest, but nowhere near a claiming gesture. _So not dating then._ Doesn't matter. Keith's still a lucky son of a gun. Anyway, Dean's parents wouldn't like if they saw him canoodling in the Bistro of the club, he'd be in trouble. His parents aren't here, but everyone knows everyone around this place. Parents talk.

At that moment, another tall drink of water enters the club—a tall drink of cold ice. Michael. Know what? _He's_ the lucky son of a gun. I haven't ever been able to figure out their relation, but it's a… something. At first I thought they were brothers, but both have pronounced many times that they are _not_ brothers, not even cousins. They're disgusted by the idea that they could be. Michael's always with the Winchester family, I've never seen him come with a family of his own; he seems concerned with representing them, he's always trying to get Dean to behave. I saw him, well I saw him _spank_ Dean in the locker room once. I'm not sure Michael didn't know I was there, I'm more sure he didn't care.

Whatever he is, he looks angry, smoldering enough to engulf the place in a black cloud. He's pretty, like Dean, but in a different way; a more sophisticated gorgeous, in his navy blazer and black slacks. He stares at the table of good-looking hockey players surrounding Dean, like he's wishing he could peg each one off. "Dean. Let's go." He turns around and walks out, expecting his bidding to be done.

"Sorry about that guys," Dean says wiping off his hands, pretending like Michael's no big deal, but you could be a blind Panda and you'd still be able to see how important anything Michael says to Dean is—always, even when I've seen Dean _pissed_ at Michael. Maybe especially when Dean's pissed—you only get that mad when you really care, right? If we all look at Dean like he's something amazing, Dean looks at Michael like he's the center of the universe. Michael's important to Dean—that's certain—it's kinda hard to tell if it's reciprocated in full though. Actually, I'm sure it isn't, I think I just hope it is for Dean's sake. Michael's always doing stuff like this, ordering him around, treating him like an annoying younger brother (even though I know, I know, they're _not_ brothers). He could stand to treat Dean with a little more care. Someone should tell him how lucky he is, he's got what everyone wants.

"C'mon Keith." We all hold our breath when Dean tugs Keith up by his wrist and kisses his lips. See you guys later."

Keith slips on his own Hockey jacket, the one with an "A" on his left sleeve for Anderson and the pair of them wheel their giant hockey bags out. "Fuck, you think Anderson's in with Winchester?" one of the remaining boys asks.

"Nah. Winchester's taken that chastity vow or whatever through his church."

Another one laughs. "He might wear that ring, but Winchester's no virgin."

"How would you know?"

He's quiet while they figure it out. "Richardson, you dog. You and Winchester?"

"He came onto me. I wasn't gonna say no. Only an idiot says no to Winchester."

The table is stupid envious of Richardson. Heck, _I'm_ envious of Richardson and I know for certain that if I ever get the chance to have sex with Dean Winchester, I'm not going to be stupid.

**

I want to rip the boy's lungs out. "What's he doing here, Dean?"

"Simmer. It's our day to drive Keith to school after practice. What the fuck are you doing here? Where's Daddy?"

I don’t want that to hurt. I don't want to fucking _feel_ things, but I do. It does hurt. I haven't been able to spend as much time with Dean as I would have liked to for the past couple weeks. Father's been particularly demanding. Needless to say I was looking forward to picking him up; he didn't miss me at all. I also want to throttle him for speaking to me that way. I refrain from grinding my teeth.

"Becky invited him to some cardio kickboxing class, he asked me if I was available to drive you." Which is why he also lent me his SUV. I can't fit hockey bags in my Audi and besides, my father would kill me if Dean scratched the shit out of my car with his hockey bags. That and I would have had to sit through another of his, 'just because we can afford it, doesn't mean I'm going to allow you to treat the nice things I buy you poorly.'

Dean slides into the passenger seat, while Keith (the guy I'm actively working not to pulverize) gets into the backseat, trying to act like Mr. Cool. I've got his number. He's acting cool because he wants Dean to get into his pants. _I wonder if I can kick him out of the vehicle while it's moving and convince Dean it was an accident?_

I remain quiet and seethe the whole way to Dean's school as the two of them laugh and talk hockey, having a good old time while I grip the steering wheel tight, in order to prevent my hands reaching back to encircle idiot Keith's neck. When I arrive at the school, Keith jumps out, thinking he's going to wait for Dean, but I dissuade that notion. "Dean, a word if you wouldn't mind." He knows I'm not asking. He glares, but he tells Keith to go ahead without him.

"Doesn't he need his hockey luggage?" I ask.

"No. Didn't Daddy tell you anything? He usually drops it to Keith's Mom on the way home. What do you want Michael?"

"I saw you kiss that boy."

"And? You gonna call the national guard?"

"No. I was thinking Papa Winchester would do just fine." That and I’m pretty sure the national guard calls him anyway.

I see the fear cross over his eyes for just a second then it's back to challenging disbelief. "You're gonna tell Papa on me? Yeah, right. Is he even talking to you after the whole argument about earthquakes?"

The Winchesters are not properly prepared, I read a report claiming a massive earthquake could hit California, sometime in the next hundred years. "That was weeks ago."

"If he can still remember the time we brought Mrs. Whiskers in from the cold with vivid detail, he can remember that—you told him he was an ignorant ape with the foresight of a dinosaur."

I might have been a tad excited. "Excuse me for wanting to be prepared in case the world crushed in on you. Anyway, I'm certain we're about to become best friends with the information I have. You're too young to kiss boys in Bistros. At the club Dean? That's just stupid. I might not even get the chance to oust you."

"It was a peck, Michael, like something I'd give my gramma."

"That was not a kiss you'd give your grandmother."

"Well maybe I like Keith. If I have to, I'll ask Papa if I can date him. What's this all about Michael? You jealous?"

Just because I want to murder the little twerp, doesn't make me jealous. "No. I just think you're too young."

"Good thing you're not one of my parents then, can I go now?"

I weigh the options. If I tell him to stay, he will, but this discussion, which is more like an argument will turn volatile. At the moment, I can't say that might not be enjoyable and preferable to the indifference he's displaying, but I don't want to make him cry before school—regrettably, that's where our fights head these days, to tears. "Yeah go, but wait Dean?"

"Yeah?" he says, annoyed I'm keeping him away from _Keith._

"I'll see you after school."

"Actually Michael… I'm kinda busy."

I stop myself from asking him if this has anything to do with our most recent fight over Cherise (a girl I slept with, I'm pretty much just into male humans, but she was different and suddenly made me want to try, I instantly regretted it) because I'm pretty sure it is and I'm pretty sure it will lead to the kind of volatile I'm talking about—the place Dean and I shouldn't go. "Well when in your oh so busy schedule do you have time for me?" I say that with far more animosity than I mean to.

"I don't know Michael. You have your own life, why don’t you go do that?"

The little brat is my 'own life,' even if I have the urge to strangle him right now. "Fine, I will." This was a disaster and it was the wrong thing to say ('cause yes there are things he's looking for me to say in our fighting, things he's trying to egg me into saying) his veneer finally cracks and his face is disheartened for a half second before he's back to sneering.

He slams the door shut and I hate the smile he gives Keith, who waited for him a ways off. I feel a lot like the asshole older brother, the one that Dean and I are always adamant I'm not when others ask. _At least we still agree on one thing._

Daddy Winchester didn't tell me about escorting the little twerp's hockey luggage to his home, but even that's preferable to going home, so I pull out my phone to call. Before I can call Daddy Winchester for the address, Tom is suddenly in the passenger seat. "We need you at the manor."

"I do have a cell phone. You couldn't have called me?"

His answer is a look I can translate. He's my escort.

I pull the car out of the school parking lot I was stewing in. "Yeah, yeah. It's not like I'm not going to come when he beckons. What does he want?"

Another _look_ accompanied with uncomfortable body language.

"So he's in another mysterious snit and no one can calm him down?"

"Yes… though I should warn you, he did shout for you. When you didn't come… well… some of his snit isn't mysterious. Your uncle was already suggesting I retrieve you, when your father did. It's a… gong show over there."

Gong show—learned that one watching sitcoms with me. "Perfect. Hey, you busy tonight Tom? Wanna watch reruns of Perfect Stranger on Netflix?"

He winces. "Sorry, I got this thing with the other angels and…"

"I can't come?"

"You know I'd invite you anywhere Michael, but—"

"But I'm the boss's son. I get it. They want to do things they think I'd tell on them for."

"And things your father doesn't want you doing like drinking 'till you're of age."

'Till I'm of age. How ridiculous. I've lived for several millennia, but according to my father I'm nineteen and must follow human law. He's a complete hypocrite. It's not like he follows human laws for anything else. I don't bother trying to wheedle my way into an invite, Tom feels bad enough. I suppose I will have to tolerate my human 'friends' for the night, I need a distraction. The trepidation in my gut grows as we approach the manor, still in Sam's SUV, which I might have to get Tom to take back.

Gabriel's there as we enter, a worried look on his face, his hands clasped behind his back. He appraises me as he does, in a way that always makes me feel I should stand a little straighter and make sure my shirt is tucked in. I can't proceed until I know his appraisal is complete. Finally, he nods. "Michael he's livid, what did you do?"

Now I'm panicking. I run a hand through my hair. "N-Nothing. I swear." But I'm racking my brain trying to figure out if there's something I've done, even if unintentional to rile him. I can't think of a thing. I can think of plenty of things he's involved in, or decided that he could take out on me, but which one today? I won't know until I see him.

Gabriel looks me over again, this time to decipher that yes, I'm telling the truth as I know it. "Well come on. He's destroying his office. You're likely the only one who can calm him down."

Fuck. This is the worst morning. I squeeze my hands into fists for strength, pull every ounce of composure I have to me and follow behind my uncle. We head to father's office, which is not the room he does business with the angels in, but it is where he likes to be alone and will often call me to, for a chat. I take in an unnecessary breath and don't bother knocking before I enter—I'm one of the few who are allowed and I only do so when I feel it's better to—and have to duck at a chair being thrown my way. "Michael! Where have you been?" His hair is silver now, since he decided his vessel looked more sophisticated and authentic as 'Father' that way, he made it so. It swoops up and back toward his right ear. His chin is no longer smooth-shaven, instead sporting a gruff, equally silver five o'clock shadow—it does make his vessel handsome.

"Dropping Dean off at school, sir." I don't dare ask if he remembers of course he would remember I told him before I left. He's choosing not to acknowledge that fact. "Is there something I can help you with, sir?"

He looks deranged, like a human who's been on a drinking binge and every bit as irrational. His tie is loose, shirt open one too many buttons, he's not even wearing socks. "You can be here when I need you to be."

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry." That is an absolute impossibility unless I plan on being where he is twenty-four seven, which I'm not willing to do, even if I'm beaten for it. "I'm here now, are you looking for something?"

He relaxes the tiniest amount and I have hope that I'm about to get a small amount of luck this morning—maybe he's not directly upset with me (indirectly for not being here at the snap of his fingers) and I can fix this. Maybe it will get me invited out with the other angels. "That business card, you know the one?"

Lucky for me I do know, even though it could be any business card and he's vague. He expects me to read his mind without actually reading his mind. It's the business card for the realtor he had me find when he declared that I could have the apartment he knows I wanted even if I've never expressed the thought out loud. He does know me well, it comes with having spent so many millennia together. I use a calm, soft voice when I answer him. "I have an extra copy, here and even if I didn't, I could find her online for you, Father."

He nods. "I don't want you moving out Michael. Ever."

"Yes, sir. Would you like me to get rid of this card then?"

He takes it from me. "No. I've decided you'll have an apartment and that's final."

I try not to get excited, Father won't like that, but my first thought is that I can't wait to tell Dean, he won't care at the moment, but I hope he will later.

"All the books on human development explain that this is an important step in a parent-child relationship, letting go. We've been doing so well this time, I want to make sure this continues. You've been a good boy and should be rewarded."

I feel sick when he says that and I like it. It's true then—I've read books on this—I desire his approval despite his ill treatment. I know I shouldn't, but I do and I hate myself for it as much as I hate him. It's worse now when I'm also lacking Dean's approval, Father's approval calms the mild distress thrumming through my vessel

"There will be rules and I expect you home when I say. "

"Yes, sir. Of course and we'll still have family dinner?" He has those for me. They're often random and infrequent, but he thinks they're important. None of the angels eat, except for me, but he makes them. I'm indifferent to the dinners. They're neither good nor bad, but I would rather spend any 'family' time with the Winchesters. I'm only asking now to calm him and make him feel better about the thing he doesn't want to do that I want him to do that he thinks he needs to do.

"Of course we will, Michael. In fact, we'll have one next week."

I nod. "I should clean this up for you, sir. It's my fault. I wasn't here when I should have been." None of that's logical of course; it doesn't matter.

"Do you think I've gone soft just because I'm allowing you to move out?" Him making the decision that I'm moving out is a double-edged sword laced with arsenic on both sides. He's angry about the decision, even though he's the one that's made it. Any chat about it can end badly for me, even the days when I come home and he's thought about it for too long can end badly for me.

"No sir I," fuck, I fucked up, "H-How would you like to punish me sir?"

He thinks it over. "I think flailing the skin from your back will be sufficient. Go wait in the other room in the appropriate position. I don't have time to waste if I'm going to call this woman. Tell the others."

**

After my beating, I'm in a worse mood than I began in and it seems I'll be getting no highlights to this day. When I think my back has stopped bleeding enough, I get redressed and stiffly make it back to Sam's vehicle. Tom catches up with me. "Michael—"

"What?" I snap. I'm in no mood.

"I'm sorry you had to go through, that."

"Then why did you watch?"

"I…" he sighs, "Michael only to… only to make sure you were okay."

That's worse somehow. I don't want people making sure I'm okay. Or feeling sorry for me. "I'm fine. I'll be out. Next time, fucking text me."

"Wait, Michael, I think I can convince the other angels to—"

"I've got other plans." I don't wait for an answer and next time he wants to chill and watch Netflix, he can go fuck himself.

As I'm pulling out, I check my phone. There are several messages from Daddy Winchester to the tune of, _where are you? I have to drop off Keith's hockey gear._

I call. "Sam?"

"Michael? Where are you? You'd better not be talking on your cell phone and driving."

"We've been over this, I'm an angel, I'm not prone to the same, ugh, forget it. If you'll give me the address, I can drop off the equipment." And find out where the miscreant lives.

"That would be great sweetheart. Thank you."

 _Keith_ lives in one of those white picket fence neighbourhoods; one dog, one cat and two point five kids for every house. It's a large home, not like the Winchesters (few people have the kind of money the Winchesters have) but it's easy to decipher they have money too—otherwise, Keith wouldn't be going to the same expensive school Dean does. I pull out Keith's hockey bag and wheel it up to the home then ring the doorbell and wait. Keith's mother, a blonde, typical upscale kind of mother with polished nails, a tan, wearing a shirt with one of those little crocodiles on it, answers the door. "Oh, Michael, right?"

A few of them think I'm Dean's nanny (some of these rich kids do have nannies well into their teen years, ones that drive them wherever and bring them whatever) and others think I'm the Winchester's housekeeper. I don't know which one she thinks I am and I don't care. "Yes. Where should I put this, ma'am?" But if I'm not polite and Daddy Winchester hears about it, he won't be pleased.

"I'll take that dear. Thank you for dropping this off. Where's Sam?" All the moms have crushes on Sam.

"He had an alternate engagement, shall I tell him you say hi?"

"Yes, do that for me. Do you know if the boys are coming here after school? Or to the Winchesters? They've been hanging out an awful lot lately." This news excites her, she's realized her son might have captured Dean's eye and wouldn't that be a lovely wedding to plan? She can forget it—over my dead vessel.

"I don't know, you'll have to talk to Sam." And I need to get the hell out of here before I destroy something.

She's happy about that. "I'll do that Michael. You know, I do have some lemonade and cookies I made fresh, would you like to come in?"

"No thank you," I say instead of telling her I'm barely legal like I should. I know cookies and lemonade is code for sex. "I have to get Sam's vehicle back."

"Okay, thank you, Michael."

I get the hell out of there. My back fucking aches and I'm in a bad mood and I just want to tear something apart. That's when Dean decides to text me. _I forgot my lunch in the car, will you bring it to me? Daddy says you still have his vehicle._

I look around and sure enough, it's hidden from view on the other side of the chair which is why I didn't see it. _Buy something._ It's not like he doesn't have fucking money.

_Why are you being such a fucking dick? I don't want to waste Daddy's lunch he made. Never mind, I'll ask him to bring it when he gets the car back._

Daddy Winchester will bring it for him because Dean is a spoiled brat and I don't think he should be inconvenienced because Dean was too forgetful to remember it himself. _I'll be there in ten minutes. It will be at the front desk for you._ It's better I don't see him right now. I probably look terrible and I don't want him asking questions.

_Whatever._

What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I'm doing what he demanded. Not even a thank you. I don't bother texting something I'll regret later, but I do text Daddy Winchester to tell him I'm bringing Dean's lunch to him. At least he says, _thank you corn muffin._

By the time I finally do make it to Casa de Winchester, it's noon. My Audi is parked where I left it this morning. I think about leaving the keys in the ignition of Sam's SUV and taking off in my vehicle so I don't have to face Sam, but then I remember Dean's hockey equipment. I should bring that in for Sam. So I do. I roll it around the back to the sliding glass, kitchen door. Sam's there already working on fresh muffins for Dean when he gets home from school.

"Hi there, sweetheart, oh right Dean's hockey gear—it always stinks to high heaven—you mind dumping it outside for me? It needs to air out."

"Yes, sir."

It does smell unsavory. I've had the unfortunate pleasure of inhaling it many times before. It doesn't smell any better today, but it makes me think of Dean who feels so far away from me, so I'm happy to bear the awful scent just because it's Dean's awful scent. I'm pathetic.

When I'm done, I check to see that Sam is busy (all his focus appears to be on the muffin-making) and slip my hand in to hang his keys on the hook. "Bye Mr. Winchester. See you later."

His head whips up, his Daddy senses going wild. Fuck. His laser focus is on me now. "I don't think so, Sur. Get your cute little tush in here and park it on that chair."

"As much as I'd like to, I'm busy. I have things to do in my day too you kn—"

"That chair, right now Michael." He gives no fucks.

I groan, but slug myself into the chair careful not to hit my back against it, crossing my arms and glaring at him. "Glare at me all you like, pout if you want, but you're sitting there until I'm done."

Sam knows my 'busy day' didn't include something for my father. Not only would I have said so, but he's gotten good at deciphering by my tone when I'm on a mission for _Him._ I resign myself to watching him bake muffins with precision and care and it's an odd sort of relaxing, a rainy-day-in-the-house-comfort, allowing my vessel to sink into how tired it is while it puts my limited grace's energy to healing it. I end up putting my arms on the table and my head in my arms, but I still keep two eyes on Daddy Winchester, letting his predictable movements soothe me. I don't miss when he starts humming for my benefit, or when he looks up to smile at me. I give him a quarter smile in return.

I open my eyes to tea and food being placed before me realizing I must have drifted off. All his muffin tools have been put away and I can smell them baking. Sam runs a large hand through my hair. "How about you wake up and eat with me, so you can get to all those plans you have, huh?"

"I don't have any plans," I admit, pulling the bowl of soup toward me.

"I know." He sits and breaks off a piece of grill cheese sandwich off to dip into his soup. It's good soup. Homemade, Sam Winchester special recipe chicken noodle. "So, you gonna talk the easy way, or the hard way?"

"I don't need to talk about anything."

"The hard way then. You're not leaving that chair until you talk Michael, which is fine by me. I've got all day."

He means it too. I've tested that more than once thinking he couldn't possibly have the endurance to outlast me. I was wrong. "Okay, I'll talk. My father has decided I'm moving out even though he hates it and beats me continuously for it, Dean is driving me crazy and even Tom won't hang out with me today."

He does something I don't expect. He laughs at me. "If I wanted to be laughed at, I would have talked to my human friends."

"I'm not laughing at what you told me sweetheart—none of that is any cause for laughing, especially the first thing—I think you're cute is all. I love that some of your problems are so, normal. Human."

"Perfect."

He sighs. "In all seriousness, Michael, I want to do things the Lord will never forgive me for to your father. Why didn't you tell me that first? I thought we had a deal?" He pushes out and I know he's off to get the aloe.

"It's not that bad this time."

"Where Michael?"

Ugh. "My back."

"No wonder you passed out. Shirt off, please."

"This day sucks." Did I really just say that out loud? I take my shirt off, but have to peel it away from my scabbing back; it takes any remaining skin with it. Healing like a human also sucks.

"God damn it, Michael!"

I cringe. Daddy Winchester swears less than Dean doesn't swear. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"No, no. Darn it. I'm the one who's sorry Michael. I shouldn't have sworn. I'll wash my own mouth out later. I wasn't swearing at you, just near you. Of course this isn't your fault I just wish—"

"—I told you it's worse knowing." Much as he tries to deny it and say he'd rather know, knowing when you can't do a thing about something is frustrating. "You can't do anything."

"Can too and I'm doin' it right now. I'm sorry, honey. I shouldn't have got mad like that. Keep eating your soup if you can, I'm going to take care of this."

It hurts and feels nice at the same time, eating the soup and grill cheese is a good distraction. When he's done smoothing on the aloe, he wraps bandages around my torso, even though I insist I will be all healed up by the end of the day. "That's when we'll take them off then. You finish eating sweetheart, I'm gonna throw your shirt in the wash and get you something else to wear."

While he's gone, I get a text from Dean. _Out with it Michael. Are you pissed at me or something? If you are, that's really stupid. You know, a break from all your bullshit would be really nice._

All I read is, 'a break from your bullshit.' Fine, he wants a break? Fine! I get up to put my dirty dishes in the sink (can't leave Sam to take care of them just because Dean's being a little brat) and just as I'm turning to storm out, Sam is there with a blue t-shirt. "Here, that was Dal's, put it on and sit back down and ignore whatever thing my son did to put that look on your face. I'll deal with him later."

I take the shirt. "But how did you…?"

"Only Dean puts that look on your face." Sam sits back down to finish his meal and changes the subject. "So you excited to get your own place? C'mon now, you can tell me the truth."

"A little."

"Well I'm real excited for you. Do you know where you'd like to get a place?"

I shrug. "It doesn't matter, my father will be choosing."

"Well it's still great, we'll have you a house warming. I call shotgun on getting to buy you china, silverware, bed linen. You'll need towels too, what are you doing about furniture?"

"I assure you all of that will be taken care of, you don't _need_ to buy me anything."

"Oh I know I don't need to sweetheart, but it's not everyday one of my own moves into his own place and I'm doin' stuff for him if I want, you can't stop me."

In actual fact, by the number of Colts in existence, one of 'his own' could be moving into their own place everyday, but I know he's inferring a closer kinship, like what he might have with Dean. I'm embarrassed—I don't know what I've ever done to win his affections—so I decide on some kind of sarcastic remark, but I'm saved by Dallas walking in. "What can't you stop him doin'?" He stays over so much and for no reason at all, it's hard to tell whether he lives here or not.

"Michael's getting his own place."

Here we go.

"Giddy up! That's great Michael. Oh! I call shotgun on buying him office furniture. I bet Michael's place will have a really great office."

"No one's buying me anything."

"Sure we are," Dallas says, not caring about my opinion and I'll never say it out loud, but their excitement has a good feeling to it. I might even enjoy the way they ignore my surliness in favor of doing the things they want for me. "And we're throwing you a house warming too."

"Yep! Way ahead of you Dal, I already informed him."

"How about you two allow me to get the place first?" That deters them zero. They chat for a good hour about what kind of art I should hang in my bathroom and how many bookshelves I'll need. I just listen and try not to fall asleep again.

Sam makes us all tea. "Tell us the latest, what's going on with Dean?"

"I'm not sure. I had sexual relations with a woman and he flipped, still hasn't forgiven me for it. I don't get it though, we're not dating, yet I know it was against some invisible code I was unaware of." I don't spill about Keith as much as I would like to. I might threaten Dean, but I won't rat him out over something like that.

"A woman? You, really?"

"I can have sex with a woman."

"Sure you can cowboy, but… you like men," Dallas says.

"Plenty of people have sex with both sexes."

"Plenty of people do and that's fine, but you've never seemed into women."

I'm not, not really, but I might be now? I don't know. "It was a one time thing. Anyway, it was no different than any other time."

"Not to Dean. He's worried Michael and his immature teenage emotions are expressing themselves in jerk lingo. He thinks she must be pretty important for you to want to sleep with her."

"Well she wasn't. That's just stupid."

"Besides, he's a Winchester—you know how jealous they get," Sam adds.

"And if you need a story, I can tell you one or seven," Dallas says.

"But we're friends, not lovers."

They exchange a look, which I have no desire to know the translation of, except I'm almost certain it means they think I'm being stupid.

"No, you're not lovers, but he's still possessive over you Michael. You know that—his nickname for you since he could talk was 'mine.'"

Dallas laughs. "Yeah, I remember that."

That's a good point. Damn them and their good points.

"Talk to him," Sam adds.

"I already did talk to him."

"Talk again. Sometimes it takes more than once Michael."

I have a bad feeling with Dean and me and this topic it's going to take a lot more than even two conversations. "Fine. I'll talk to him. May I leave now? I have important plans to make."

"I thought you were a social pariah?" Sam says.

"I have human friends."

"Name one of them you like?" Dallas asks.

"Glen is okay."

"Better than us?" Dallas pushes with his big goofy grin.

"Is it both of your missions in life to annoy me to death?" I'm not answering that.

"C'mon, stay for dinner. You'll feel better."

I think Daddy Winchester would feel better. "Okay. I'll stay, but I need to go for a drive or something. I'll be back for…?"

"Six."

**

Dean's mouth is on my mouth. Dean Winchester's mouth is on my mouth! Whoo! I'm trying to be cool about it, but I'm so not cool about it. I've wanted him to kiss me like this for forever and now he is and wow, it's better than I imagined. Sure there have been little pecks—Gramma kisses—but nothing like this. His tongue is in my mouth and his hand is rubbing my crotch. "Dean, mmmhph, Dean?"

"Yeah, dude?" He breaks long enough to respond, but starts kissing me again, still rubbing and reaching for the button to my pants.

"I want to, believe me I want to, but my mom. She's downstairs, man."

"We'll be quick, don't worry. I'm a pro."

I look into his green eyes, fuck, I've never been so gone for someone. "Okay, but look I've never done this before, have you?" People keep saying Dean's done it and stuff, but you can't believe everything you hear.

"Yup." He keeps kissing. I get excited tingles when he gets the button to my pants undo and he slides a hand down my boxers—it's the single most exciting moment of my life. Fuck. I'm not going to make it if he keeps that up. "Undo me, baby."

I fumble with his school pants and follow his lead, shoving my hand down his pants, too afraid to touch his actual cock. "I wanna fuck you," he says and a big thrill goes through me. I've had wet teenage dreams about that.

"I'd like that. But Dean, don’t you have some kinda… deal with the Lord?" I look over to his ring, the one glistening on his finger like purity itself.

There's apprehension and regret, but he still answers, "I sort that out with Him every Sunday. Don't worry about me." And I don't.

Dean's right. We are fast. So fast our pants are readjusted by the time mom comes in with cookies and lemonade and we even get some homework done before Dean's Father comes to pick him up.

**

"Hello, Dean," I say when he gets into the car. I like to pick him up on my way home if I can. "You and your friend were productive, yes?"

"Very Papa. How was work?"

"Long. I'm glad to be on my way home."

When we head in, Sam's waiting with muffins, milk for Dean and after work coffee for me. "All right Dean, how about you go'on and get changed. Michael will be here soon for dinner."

Dean's face twists into a sour expression. "Sure, Daddy."

Once he's gone, I pull Sam into a proper kiss. "Hey baby. Missed you today."

"Hey Cassy, missed you too."

"Dean and Michael fighting again?"

"Yeah."

"So did you have to invite the angel for dinner? Seems like the perfect time to not invite him."

"Don't start about Michael Cas." That's become code for, Michael was beat by his father and Sam's having a hard time with it.

"I'm sorry, Baby. He okay?"

"He will be." I get a grateful smile from him.

"Do not tell Michael I just asked about him."

"Or worlds will crumble?"

"Something like that." Much as I do not like the angel, I like what his father does to him less. That's saying something. "And why do I sense a note of discord with our boy?"

He laughs. "Not discord. He's having a Winchester jealousy issue, I'm trying to figure out how to help him through this one. That's the latest soap opera between them."

I raise my brows. "I'll talk to him."

Sam doesn't say so, but I can tell that wasn’t the angle he was going for.

Dinner ends up being an interesting affair. Michael spends his time glaring at Dean, while Dean spends his time actively ignoring Michael. I'm not sure I've ever seen it this bad between them. I'm torn. Maybe this will be the big one and the angel will be gone from my home never to return. Wouldn't that be a happy day? It would, but only for me—the rest of my family would be in shambles. Most notably Dean, who might be mad now, but my son would be devastated. I have to fix this. "Dean, is all your homework complete?"

"Yes, sir. Didn't really have much. _Keith_ and I did a lot of our homework at his place after school."

Michael's whole body clenches, Dean finally gives Michael the time of day in the form of looking at him. "Dean, I'd like a word with you after dinner, please." To everyone's surprise that's Dallas and not me. It's not often Dallas calls Dean anything other than half pint.

"Sure, Uncle Dal."

"If you're done your homework Dean, feel free to go out with Michael, so long as you're home by curfew and after you've talked with your uncle."

"That's okay, Papa. I think Michael was going home straight after dinner anyway."

"Dean," Sam warns.

"What did I do?"

What did he do? Technically nothing, it just feels wrong—yeah, I'm admitting to that.

"Actually Dean, I'd like to speak with you after your uncle and if you still want me to go afterward then I will," Michael says quietly.

Sam's watching Michael carefully, a rare air of disapproval about him over the apple of his eye, Dean Winchester. Dean can sense Sam's upset but he's not giving on this one. "I'm sorry for whatever's got you upset with me, but I'm not feeling up to hanging out with Michael, that's allowed, isn't it?"

"Of course, sweetheart, but being angry doesn't mean ignoring people or rudeness. I thought I raised you better than that."

"Guess not. Maybe I'm not who you think I am."

"Good Lord, Dean Daniel—"

"That's enough at my dinner table, thank you," I decree. Everyone silences. "Dallas, I think you'd better go have that conversation with my son before I have one which is going to take place over my knee with anymore disrespect like that, am I understood Mr. Winchester?"

"Yes, Father." He looks down at his plate.

"I always want to hear what you have to say Dean, you will speak respectfully while doing it. Everyone is excused," I say as I wipe my mouth with my cloth napkin and stand up. "Sam, Michael, I want to see you both in the kitchen please." Not everyone has finished eating, but I'd say appetites are gone and it's not like anyone starves around here.

**

I love Dean to death, we all do, which is why we pounce on him when we notice the signs of a tantrum before he gets into real trouble—if we can help it. He's an amazing kid. I could list positive attributes about Dean for days and I do often. What Dean needs to work on is communicating when his emotions build up like they are now. He's young and it'll take time, but I'm going to make sure I use everything in my arsenal to guide his way into a happy, functional adulthood. Right now that means giving him my, _you know talking to your parents like that is never tolerated well, so why do it?_ look.

He gives me a sheepish look in return, which is pretty darn adorable and makes it hard to keep my face stern, since right now, he reminds me of his four-year-old self when he knew he was about to get scolded. Dean knows just how to charm me. I've got him sitting on the couch in the living room and I'm doing my best to maintain firm body language, like Cas would. "Um, are you going to spank me Uncle Dal?"

"That what you need, half pint?"

He shakes his head. "No, sir. I swear I just, it all built up, I shouldn't have acted like that at Papa's table."

"What's going on cowboy?"

"Do you think… do you think Papa would let me date?"

I reel. Take a breath I hope he doesn't notice is deeper than it should be and try to come up with a suitable answer. "I gotta be honest Dean, the idea doesn't thrill me and I'm just your old Uncle, I'm not sure that looks so good on the Papa-front."

He flings himself backward into the couch, in true Dean Winchester style: Dramatic Brat. "Well y'all gotta let me sometime Uncle Dal. You do remember I've been a kid for like twenty years?"

I let out a breath that's not fed-up, so much as it is resignation, 'cause yeah, we can't keep Dean 'innocent' forever and we all wish we could. "We're getting a bit off topic here. I think you have somethin' on your mind." I can tell something's bothering him, but I'd rather coax it out of him than _make_ him tell me. I avoid that if I can, since I'm supposed to be the Uncle, I'd like to provide an ear for him when he doesn't feel it's something he can talk to his parents about.

"That's the thing Uncle Dal. If everyone still sees me like a little kid, Michael will always see me as a little kid, not to mention the added benefit of Michael seeing me with someone else for once."

I frown. "That, that right there is why I wouldn't sign off on you dating. You're doing it to get back at Michael—that's not okay Dean, not to you, Michael and most especially to the person who has the misfortune of falling for Dean Winchester and into his messes."

He immediately looks ashamed. "Well when you put it like that…"

"You don't date someone unless you like them Dean, period. And while we're on the topic, I think we have to have another discussion about Michael. Rumor has it you've been less than pleasant to him over his recent, escapades."

"What a dirty snitch!"

"He didn't tell on you, your daddy made him spill his guts."

"Either way that's… why am I in trouble? He's the one doing stuff."

"Which he has every right to do Dean. You may not like it, but he's not breaking any promises to you."

"Well I hate it Uncle Dal, I'll hate it forever." He balls his fists and slams them into the couch.

I'm not sure where things are going to go with Dean and Michael, but I think it's good prep for Dean to consider he and Michael might not happen, never mind that all of this is a non-issue anyway since Dean's not been given permission to go on dates. "I think you're doing a lot of crying over spilt milk and it's gettin' to Michael more than you know. He was upset earlier."

"Ha. What else is new?"

"Not _mad_ upset; sad, worried, concerned upset. We spent the whole afternoon cheerin' him up."

"You did?"

"Yeah baby boy."

He sighs. "I don't want him feeling bad, I hate hearing that, but it's driving me crazy."

I take stock of my dear nephew while he stews silently on the couch. He has grown up quite a bit. There isn't a trace of his baby fat left, which disappeared some time ago leaving chiseled cheekbones and a firm jawline. Against all of that, he still manages to look young and vulnerable; my instincts tell me to protect him and I always want to, but my brain reasons he's going to have to get hurt to learn anything about life. "Look half pint, did I ever tell you how crazy your uncle Chris makes me?"

He smiles. "A time or seven."

"Yeah. Our latest was him thinkin' I was into this lady, Amanda Peat I went to high school with. The whole thing was a disaster. He wouldn't talk to me."

"Then you should know how _I_ feel Uncle Dal."

"How do you figure? Don't you think my example is a lot like you and Michael with you bein' the Chris and me bein' the Michael?"

"No. Well I know that's how you meant it, but you're the one who felt bad, even though it was Uncle Chris doing all the stuff."

"Actually half pint, my point was that we _both_ felt bad, even though Uncle Chris was doing all the stuff. He was hurt and I later learned it was because of somethin' I said I thought was nothin', 'cept to him it wasn't nothin'. We coulda talked and avoided a mess, but instead he avoided me and acted like a brat when he couldn't. Sound like anyone you know?" I arch a brow at him.

"Okay fine Uncle Dal. You've made your point, but it doesn't change that I still feel crappy. I'm not going to get what I want out of this and don't you dare quote the Rolling Stones telling me sometimes we get what we need."

I laugh. "I won't, but it's true. It was even good for Chris and I as we tackle this strange thing we sometimes call a relationship. We learned more about the other."

"That's the thing Uncle Dal, you and Uncle Chris are in a relationship even if it's unconventional. Michael and I are some kinda mutated friends—'cuz lemme tell you, I feel a lot of feelings for Michael that friends wouldn't, so friends doesn't cover it, not for me. And I _know_ he doesn't owe me any kind of celibacy, but doesn't change that I want it anyway."

Wow. Those are some big words _and_ concepts. While he might have some immature ideas of relationships still floating around in his teenage mind, this one he's thought about and well, he's being more mature than Chris can be, right now. "I know how it hurts, honey, welcome to being in love. It doesn't get better from here. Why do you think there are so many songs on the subject?"

"Yeah. I guess."

He looks so dejected, it hurts.

"But Uncle Dal, as much as it felt good in the moment to be a d-i-c-k to Michael, I felt awful when I saw the look on his face and people who love each other don't _want_ to hurt it other, so even though I'm still pissed at him, I'm going to tell him that."

"That's the way half pint. Unfortunately, it ends up being the ones we love that we tend to hit with our worst—it's a lot to do with how many emotions they stir in us, so while no, we _shouldn't_ hurt our most loved ones, they're our biggest targets. Being aware of that is a big, big step to having a relationship and I think you got it. I'm proud of you, Dean."

He smiles big, enjoying the praise. That technically ends our conversation, but I can't help the niggling in my stomach that's telling me we have something else to discuss. "Anything else on your mind, half pint?"

"Not at the moment." It's not exactly a lie, but he's still chewing his lip like it might not be the full truth, or in the least, he's apprehensive about just what he feels over whatever he's chewing on.

"Okay, but you know you can talk to me, right? About anythin'?"

"I know Uncle Dal."

That will have to be good enough for now, but I'm keeping an extra eye on him. "Okay, c'mere." I open my arms wide to him and he dives into them; I make sure to surround him with extra stability. "Be a good boy. I don't want you getting in trouble with your papa. Or me." I've been told by Cas I have a softer approach and I do, but it doesn't mean I'm not prepared to bring the hammer down on someone who needs it.

Dean smiles up at me and I can see the cheek coming before he says a word. "I'm always a good boy Uncle Dal, sometimes mischief just follows me like a naughty shadow."

I roll my eyes. "Well tell that naughty shadow to stow it, or you won't have to worry about your papa because I'll be the one giving your behind a good spanking."

He laughs, but he knows I'm not joking. "I know Uncle Dal, how can I not after you giving me a serious what for like that?"

I did? I didn't think I was that harsh, but I guess it all depends on the relationship. Dean and I have an Uncle-Nephew relationship that's a whole lot more casual than he's got with Cas and when I get any bit strict at all, I think it feels more strict than it actually is. Because if we're going to compare me to Cas, well he's like stone and I'm a marshmallow. I'll take the compliment though. I give him a final squeeze, kiss his crown and send him off with a spank for good luck.

**

Sam and Michael follow behind me like they're headed to the gallows. They take their respective seats at the kitchen table.

My husband looks so fucking hot right now. I want to ram my cock into him, instead of dealing with drama tonight. It's been a long hard day, I was looking forward to a long hard night, but I make peace with the fact that's not going to happen. "Michael, what did you do to piss Dean off?"

"I knew I shouldn't have come for dinner," he mutters and huffs. The two of them share with me what they went over this afternoon. I look up to the sky for strength, clenching my fists, opening my arms wide.

"Dean is too young for this kind of drama, full stop. I'm going to tell him this and it will be over. You would do well to remember that Michael."

"Cas—"

"Over Sam."

Sam balls his fists, a sure sign I'm being unreasonable and maybe I am, but we can deal with this properly when Dean is older, like when he's thirty-five. Dallas returns with our wayward boy and I point to the spot I want him to sit. He does taking a breath. "I'm sorry Papa."

"Apology accepted, but there is a conversation you and I need to have and we'll have it tomorrow after school."

Dean nods.

I survey my family (even the angel counts as much as I'd prefer he didn't) and notice they all look terrible, even Dallas. Each of them worried about someone, each of them affected by someone. These are some of the harder decisions I make, interfere, or let them sort it out on their own. I like to think that I solve things best, but I've learned, from my intelligent husband that sometimes them figuring things out themselves is best even if they're doing it wrong. I've come up with my own compromise, I'm willing to give time limits, if they can't figure it out by then, I tell them how to fix it, or else.

This doesn't mean I can sit idly by watching potential disaster unfold. "I have some work to finish then I'm going to have an early night. I expect everyone to be where they're meant to be at the end of the day. Am I clear?"

I get a round of 'yes sirs,' before I turn on a sharp heel and storm off. Sam follows me all the way to my office. "Cas, I need to ask you—"

"He can stay, Sam." I can't resist turning on him and pulling him to me then pushing him against the back of the door for a long kiss, branding him mine, feeling him go pliant beneath me.

"Thank you, Cassy," Sam says breathlessly, pulling away from me for a second, but I'm not done yet. I suck at his neck where he likes it, enjoying the sounds he makes, watching him fall apart against my office door.

"I'm going to fuck you so hard, Baby."

" _Please._ "

I work at his pants slower than I want to, holding myself back, so I can savor him and continue to drive him wild, chewing on his neck. There's nothing either of us likes better than ravaging each other, especially after trying days—which are a lot of late—but it's not often we have time. Once I get his pants and boxers off, so all he's wearing is the tight, grey V-neck that he looks too fucking sexy in to remove.

Sam is large, but I still manage to heft him up, so he can wrap his legs around me and have strength enough to spin him, as we kiss, and carry him over to my desk. There's nothing on it but worthless items like my canister of pens and pencils. My more valuable items, like the distorted mug Dean made for me saying "Werld's Greatest Papa" when was five, or the framed family pictures are stowed safely on my bookshelves. Even the paper weight, of what I think is supposed to be a frog Dean made me for Father's day when he was in first grade is on a shelf. I've always liked to fuck Sam over my desk; I plan ahead.

Sam's on his back, sprawled before me, mine for the taking. Finding myself some lube, I push my fingers inside of him and lean my head in to suck his cock, tasting the soft skin delicately then grazing my teeth along his shaft. I find joy in listening to him and feeling him writhe and appreciate my ministrations. "Cas… Cas please. I'm gonna…"

"No." I pull away an smack his thigh hard enough to peal an exquisite yelp out of him. But it is time for my cock, so I pull it out of my pants and sink it inside him. "Is that better, Baby?"

"Yes, fuck yes."

I make us last awhile, 'till even I'm pleading with myself to let us come, but it seems important to drag this out, exhaust us both until the pleasure is not just a waterfall, but an eruption. I'll never get tired of his whimpers and pleas, just as he'll never get tired of me telling him, "Don't even think about coming."

But finally, it's time and we come together; it saps the life out of us. We end up curled around each other on the floor, him half naked, me fully clothed except for the dick hanging out of my pants. "That was awesome, Cas." He kisses me hard. "You got anything left in you for another round?"

He's been doing those damn cardio kickboxing classes again, hasn't he? They give him the endurance of a Triathlete. I'm not one to turn down a challenge, or sex with my beautiful husband, love of my life, soul mate. "I'm just getting started, Samuel."

**

Dean doesn't look like he's been crying, so no spanking then. I'm dying to know what Dallas said to him, I know he was admonished or he wouldn't be talking to me. "Can we go for a walk, Michael?"

We head to where we always do for important talks, the treehouse. He climbs up ahead of me, when I'm up I take my usual spot beside him, with my long legs dangling between the railings. "I was being a dick Michael, I'm sorry. I was, I _am_ mad, but I don't need to be a dick. Uncle Dally helped me see that. Can you forgive me?"

I smile. "I'm the dick, you're the spoiled brat."

"I'm trying to be serious here, Michael."

"I forgive you."

It's quiet for seven hundred and ninety-four seconds. "We're best friends, right Michael?"

No. This 'best friends' moniker does not seem to fit what Dean is to me, but I understand it means a great deal to him that we are. "Yes."

"I know best friends doesn't include the other stuff, but you know I get jealous anyway. I can't help it, it's a Winchester trait, I'm like Papa that way."

I nod.

"I can't promise it's not gonna happen again, but I'm trying to get over you."

Wait, what? "Get over me?" I know. I should be encouraging him to _get over_ me, but thinking about him getting over me causes me distress and I don't like it.

"Yeah, like all the feelings that are non-friendly. They drive me crazy Michael." That look in his eyes is back, the one I've seen before when I don't know which Dean I've got—though maybe he's been both all along. "So far I've had sex with five people."

It's not easy, but somehow I manage to not break the tree house down. "That explains your attitude toward Daddy Winchester at dinner—guilt much?"

"Yeah okay? A lot of fucking guilt. I know he wanted me to stay chaste or whatever, but this is really… I like it."

"Just stop Dean—it's reckless you could get a sexually transmitted disease, or infection, whatever they're calling it these days."

"Naw. I figure Daddy will let you heal me if I get anything serious and besides, at my age, there are a lot of virgins to choose from."

That does nothing to cool my rage. "Is Keith one of these virgins?"

"Yep, but not anymore. Between math homework problems," he says proudly. "Anyway, Dean was a real playboy, even Modlenol can't bring back a V-card, this is nothing more than something to make Daddy feel better." He holds up his purity ring.

"How could you know that?"

"Someone must have said it over the years." I doubt it. I doubt anyone even knows much about those kinds of Old Dean details. "But point I'm trying to get to, none of it's working Michael. Do you think you could like me, like, ever?"

"We've talked about this."

"That was ages ago, hasn't anything changed for you?"

"Even if it had, you're too young."

"I get why age matters to the rest of the world, but does it really matter between us? Neither of us fit into the categorical norm."

"It matters Dean."

He thinks on that. "So, it's just age then, are you saying you _could_ like me-like me?"

"We've talked about this—"

"You said that already. I don't give a fuck. I'll keep asking 'till I'm dead if I have to."

Fucking brat. I _should_ lie to him. It's safest if I lie to him, but it's almost impossible with him looking at me like that. "I've explained to you how important you are to me."

"Cut the crap Michael, you gonna sink your cock in me or not?"

"There is no way I'd ever violate you like that. _Ever._ " That's what I'd like to believe anyway, but his words have my cock's attention.

"Violate me?" he laughs. "It's sex. Willing, safe, sane, consensual sex."

"You are a minor and therefore cannot be considered consenting."

He laughs harder. "Michael, you're the one who lived in all the times. I think this time era is the most ridiculous over that one, it's mostly to do with the fact that a lot of kids are kept pretty naïve. Kids have sex with other kids anyway, if the parents only knew—"

"Enough." He's like a walking, talking hormone. "You're kept naïve and it should stay that way. It's a good rule. Look at your attitude, it's unhealthy. If it were up to teenagers, the world would be one giant orgy."

"Ever think that's how it was meant to be? Biologically, there are strong arguments for teenagers having sex. Beliefs on when a human should have sex or is ready to have sex are social constructs. Ones that have varied over the world and throughout time. But when we break it down to base biology, humans begin desiring sex because of their biology as early as twelve and we're _taught_ to ignore our baser instincts. It's not what our biology is telling us to do."

"Fuck biology Dean. I don't care what argument you think you have. No. It's not up for discussion."

He rolls his eyes. "Fine. I'm not gonna win that one with you, but FYI, I'm not the only one having sex at my age, it depends on the kid and I feel I'm ready—masturbation's not cutting it anymore, I've been fourteen for almost two fucking years Michael—do you have any idea how hard it's been living with hormones that don't fucking die down for that long? It doesn't help that Daddy and Papa are so pro-masturbation, ugh," he shivers. "Did you know Daddy stocked my lube drawer for me until I told him not to?"

"I never needed to know that."

"Yeah. Paint me awkward when I had to have that conversation with him. It took awhile to get up the courage and not break his heart, he was just helping, but ew! I told him I should have to hide it like all the other kids my age."

"I know they're not pro-teenage sex."

"No."

"If you're already having sex behind their backs, why can't you just date someone behind their backs, like normal people do?" Not that I want him to do that either, this very morning I was arguing against that, but it's preferable than him fucking his high school.

"I should think that's pretty self-explanatory. Don't you remember the time you _dated_ Bryce?"

"All too well." He was clingy, tried to tell me what to do and called me 'babe.' It was awful.

"Case and point. There is no one I like enough to 'date,' Uncle Dal said I shouldn't do that. But sex is fucking fun, no strings attached. Sometimes I don't even think about us."

Deep breath Michael. Deeeep. I'm certain he must not have talked to Dallas about sex, because I'm sure Dallas would have a lot to say about 'no strings attached sex for fourteen-year-olds.' I can't think about that at them moment though. "Y-You think about us having sex?" I know, it's not the question I should be asking him, but that's what fucking comes out of my mouth.

"Yeah," he says all breathy. "I… I did save something for you though Michael. I want you to… to _fuck_ me. I don't know what Dean did, but I can save that much for you in this life."

"No. This isn't open for discussion Dean."

He balls his fists like Sam does. "Why are you being like this?"

Fuck. There are tears in his eyes. He's not playing fair. "Dean."

"No. Fuck you Michael, you're mine. _Mine._ We used to kiss and stuff, why did you stop? It's not supposed to just fucking stop. I don't get what I did to make you stop liking me—you _must_ have liked me at some point even if it stopped."

I don't know what to do. He's too upset for me to pose any reasonable argument and I won't fight with him anymore. Is this one of those times I should spank him to calm him down? I don't fucking know. When he misbehaves, it's easy to decipher, but this—this is fucking harder and more fragile. _Papa Winchester would know what to do. Why didn't he interfere like he always does?_ I'm so unprepared for this, so I do the thing I'm good at, I lie. "You're right. I'm waiting 'till you're older. I'm hoping things will have changed… back… by then." Is that even a thing?

He sniffles. "You are?"

All the hard-ass Dean melts away from him, 'till all that's left is the Dean that's innocent and naïve—even if he's not-so innocently fucking his high school. "C'mere, Duck. Yes. Waiting." My whole vessel relaxes when he's right where he's supposed to be, tucked under my arm. "You recall I'm an angel?"

"How could I forget?"

"We're not the same as humans Dean. I don't care for these humans I have relations with. It's just for sex." _I only care about you._

"Sex is pretty awesome," he agrees. I try not to think of the little idiots he's having sex with and how I'd like to break their penises off.

"I care about you Dean. We've been over this." Must I tell him every five minutes?

"Okay, fine. I'm being a pussy, I get it," he says wiping his tears away. He's not, but if that's what it takes for us to end this argument, I'll take it. We've always fought, but the frequency with which we have of late is ridiculous.

"I have some news, I'm going to have an apartment of my own," I tell him. Perhaps he can study his math homework there where I can make him do his math homework and not have sex with other people.

"Really? That's awesome! Seriously sweet. I call shotgun on—"

"Bed linen, china, towels, silverware and office furniture are already taken."

"They took all the good stuff," he whines. "Jerks. Ah ha! I know what I'm getting you."

"What?"

"Nope, not telling. You'll have to see."

"No pets."

"Not a pet. I vetoed all pets after Pala died, remember?"

"According to you, people change their minds about things."

"It hasn't been long enough, it's still too soon."

That was a horrible time. Even I have to admit to missing that furry creature now and again.

"So not a pet, but it's gonna be good."

"Then why am I so concerned?" We carry on like that as long as I can manage, me teasing him and him teasing me back. He's smiling at me for the first time today and I want to keep it that way.

**

"I want you to stay the night Michael." Dean's upstairs getting ready for bed, Michael thought he was on his way out.

Michael looks at me like I'm insane. "I've already cleared it through Cas, call your father please."

"Why are you holding me captive today?" He's outraged.

"Because I love you. Now call."

"I hate this house and everybody in it!"

And I love when Michael acts like a fussy teen. I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing. "One."

"Okay. I'm calling. Stow your counting."

When he comes back: "What did he say?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Perfect. I'll make popcorn and tea, meet me in the living room once you're all ready for bed. I left some pajamas for you on your bed." I only call it his bed when Cas is nowhere to hear that.

He storms off.

When he enters, I'm snuggled on the couch in pajamas, Cas and Dally have gone up to bed. I pat the seat on the couch. "Here, we can share the popcorn better if you sit here."

He's sulky, but he does it, I put the popcorn between us and hand him his tea so he can put it on the end table closest to him. "Charles in Charge?"

"C'mon. It just came out on Netflix, you'll love Scott Baio. Besides, no matter how much you try to hide it, you love eighties theme songs."

"They're so catchy," he admits.

We watch several episodes, I sing to every opening and try to get Michael to sing, but he won't. He does smile. "What's the point of all this?"

"It's called fun with Daddy Winchester, you should try it. How's your back?" I worried about him all day, I should have made him take a bath.

He must be able to tell, he does things for me even if he'll never admit to them. "I'm all healed. Would you like to see?"

"Yes." I wipe my buttery popcorn fingers on a napkin then lift his shirt. He's already removed the bandages and he's right, he's completely healed, but there are scars if you look close enough. I twist my lips, but don't make the same mistake I did earlier. "Looks good, strawberry jam." That should get a reaction. It does.

"I can never decide which nickname is worse." He's barely trying; he's tired.

"Two more then it's bedtime."

"You are not tucking me in."

"Am too."

It's taken a few episodes, but I finally see Michael relax. Deciding he's had enough popcorn, he wipes his hands on the napkin I gave him and settles into the couch. "That Buddy character should be banned from the house."

"But he's Charles's best friend and besides, he's family. Personally, I'd never allow family to be banned from a house, nor will I let them think they're all alone." I give him a stern stare down for good measure and get a weak smile.

As promised, when our T.V time is over, I take him up to the room he stays in when I make him and pull the covers back for him, he climbs in and I enjoy the look of him all cozy under the covers, lying on a soft pillow. I wish I could keep him. "Night, Michael." I kiss his forehead.

"Goodnight Mr. Winchester. Thank you, I, I did like that show." There's something soft and quiet about Michael right now. He doesn't allow for self-pity, but when he's like he is now, I know he can't help but have a hint if it going through him, wishing things were different for him. He's stronger than me, I wish it for him all the time.

I can't help myself, I sit on the bed on impulse. "Roll over. I'll rub your back 'till you fall asleep." Maybe it's silly, but I feel like if I give his back loving touches, they will erase the nasty ones his father left earlier.

Knowing arguing is futile, indulging me some more, but also that little place inside him that longs for comfort, he does. It doesn't take long and he's out. I wipe a tear from his cheek, the one I can see glistening in the unnatural light from the lights just outside this bedroom. He doesn't want anyone to know he hurts, not even me, but he does.

**

Michael looks good, the way I want him: Relaxed, as much as Michael does relax, in pajamas and bare feet. Dean's staring at him with the usual adoration. "Dean says he's getting me a mystery present for my new apartment, but he won't tell me what it is," Michael tattles. _Yep. Back to normal. There's comfort in that._

"That so?"

That's when Cas whirls in. "Good morning," he says smiling. "What are we talking about?"

"What Dean's buying for Michael as his house warming gift"

"Does anyone even care that I don't have a house to warm yet?"

"Speaking of which, my dear boy, you must know there are going to be rules about that."

"What kind of rules Papa?"

"There are no parents at Michael's new apartment." Michael clears his throat. "His _theoretical_ new apartment. If you think you're just going to be permitted to hang out there as you please, you are sorely mistaken Mr. Winchester."

Dean is not pleased with this development, because he clearly did think he was going to get to do just that. "What do you think I'm going to do there Papa? I'm safe with Michael. He won't even let me touch paper that's too sharp."

"Not the point. Privileges are earned in this house and you have not earned that privilege. Daddy and I will discuss the rules and we will notify you. You will obey them."

It's obvious Cas is done with Dean nonsense and feels he needs a firm reminder of who his parents are. Dean doesn't respond how he's supposed to, gritting his teeth, Cas gives him some leeway and pretends he doesn't notice. Instead he does his ritualistic check over of the items in his work bag, while Dean stares, his brain trying to come up with some kind of argument that won't get him into trouble. He's saved by a sleepy Dally that saunters into the kitchen and pours himself coffee. "'Morning everyone."

He gets four good mornings. Dean's still focused on Cas and by the light in his eyes, he's figured out something to say though he really shouldn't. "How does one go about earning that particular privilege, Father?"

"I believe I closed this topic Dean."

Dean's fists ball like mine do. He should be grateful Cas is in a good mood—sex has that effect on Cas and we had lots of it. I swoop in with breakfast for my surly boy, so he can fill his mouth with food, before he gets himself in trouble. "Here Dean Bean, eat up."

"I can take Dean to school this morning," Cas says as I give him breakfast and a kiss.

That is a bad idea. Thankfully I have something to do there this morning. "No need, Cas. I have to meet with a couple of the volunteer parents this morning anyway, but you're welcome to take him to hockey practice tomorrow morning."

"How come I'm feeling like a chore?" Dean asks.

"You're not sweetheart. We all want to drive you that's all."

"In that case, I'm going to head out. You got anything to go, Sam?"

"Sure do, Cassy. Just give me a sec." I've always got something to go for him. I put food together for him quick and hand it to him. He gives me the Cas smile that makes me weak in the knees even after all the years between us and kisses me.

"I'll be home early today. Dean, you remember we have that appointment?"

Dean doesn't answer. Cas gives him a dark look. "Dean?"

"Yeah. I heard you. _Whatever._ "

Oh Dean.

Cas slips into his long jacket, his favorite khaki trench coat, as he watches his wayward son, the one who I realize more all the time, has entered his rebellious years. There's only so far you can rebel with a Cas and it looks like Dean's going to have to learn the hard way. "That is disrespect in my books Dean. You know this. I think you've forgotten who you're speaking to." Cas straightens his jacket and watches his prized son. People don't say 'whatever' to Cas and live to tell about it, not without a token spanking. Except Dean just did. Yep, Cas is in a darn good mood not to take him to task here on the kitchen—but he is on notice.

Dean's trying to keep a brave face, but he does not like when Cas is put out with him. That doesn't mean his Winchester pride won't get him into more trouble. Everyone waits to see which way this is going to go. "I'm sorry, Papa."

"I'm sorry, _sir._ " Cas's generosity has run out.

"I'm sorry, sir."

"Thank you. My office, straight after school please."

"Yes, sir."

We all sigh relief that Dean didn't start a World War in the kitchen. Cas leaves, Dean complains. "What was all that about Daddy? Is he in a bad mood?"

I laugh. "He was in a good mood, believe me. I know you're excited Dean, but you also know what your father's like. You really expect different after all this time?"

"No, but I'm grown up now. Fourteen, the second time around. I think I'm entitled to some older person stuff." He was not happy about not being 'advanced' to fifteen. It's given him a bit of an attitude.

"With vocabulary like that, it's hard to see why not," Michael says smiling.

"Hey, I can use big language," he says making eyes at Michael and leaning into him.

"I'll believe it when I see it," Michael says brushing his hair back.

Are they flirting? It's hard to tell. They've always had comfortable body language with the other; right now, can't put my finger on it, but something's different. Changing.

Dallas must notice me staring and suddenly feels the need to take charge. "Okay everyone, time to get this show on the road. Dean you ready for school?"

"Yes, Uncle Dal."

"Okay, finish your breakfast, Daddy will take you to school. Michael, plans?"

"I don't see why my plans are of any consequence to—"

"You're with me today then."

It's hard not to laugh at Michael's reaction. "What? Why have I become a captive? This isn't fair."

"Fair's what I say is fair, Sur," Dally tells him.

Michael crosses his arms and sulks, but he's the better behaved one today and doesn't argue. As for my dear son, resident apple of my eye, he's getting a stern talking to once we hit the road.

**

I quickly caught onto Sam's Michael plan. He didn't say anything to me and didn't need to. Aside from us being brothers and Colts, I've come to sense disturbances in the force. Michael needs us. I know he's supposed to be this unbreakable angel, but to me, he's a young man adrift, looking more like a hollowed out teenager and I always want to encase him in my arms and squeeze him 'till he knows how loved he is.

But Michael doesn't work that way. We have to drag him around with us as long as we can 'till we can tell he gets _it._ Sammy got through to him a bit last night, but it needs to be affirmed. This time around's been especially hard for Michael with Dean's near rejection of him—that frazzles Michael in a way he doesn't yet know how to work thorough, not very well at least.

Michael needs our guidance, like any other young person would, in a way that's unique to him, like it's the only way he'll give himself permission to let go and have fun. To forgive himself on whatever he needs forgiving.

When Dean and Sammy leave, Michael and I have a stare-off, though it's not much of one, I'm smiling broadly before he can glare too long. "What's my first order?" he asks.

"No orders, Michael."

"Isn't that what captives get? Orders?"

I pretend to think about it. "Second thought, you're right. Here's an order: Sit there and keep me company while I do the dishes."

"But, can't I help?"

"Nope."

I can feel his eyes darken and sear into the back of my skull while I get started on the dishes. "How come I can't hear any talking?"

"What do you want me to talk about? How the bees in America are dying and have recently been put on the endangered species list? How by the year 2032 one in every two children will have Autism?"

"How about something less global like your conversation with Dean last night?"

"Why is this family so meddling?"

"Because we care."

"Dean's pushing the issue of us. I told him he's too young!" he says, thinking I'm going to castrate him like Cas would.

"I believe you sugar donut, but I know how persistent Dean is. He and I talked last night, I know what he feels about you."

"I may have led him to believe we could when he's old enough. I didn't specify an age, I was thinking when he's eighty-seven and Castiel has long expired. There's no way I'm touching Dean until then."

I chuckle as I load the dishwasher. "Castiel is a reasonable guy."

"Not about Dean."

"He can air on the side of irrational with his little boy, but he can be talked around. He always does what's best for all, no matter how hard that is on him. Haven't you noticed? Otherwise you wouldn't be here at all Michael."

"Yeah. I'm the Buddy of this Charles in Charge episode," he says under his breath. "You do have a point. Let's say in some universe, Castiel allows me to date his son, what about my father? He's not fond of humans. He views them the same many humans do insects, he doesn't bother with them until they annoy him enough, then he exterminates them. I don't even want to think about asking him."

"Okay, point for you."

"It's best we avoid it all together. What I said was stupid and desperate because he was crying and somehow I had to fix it. But now I have to fix this new problem."

"Maybe. At least you didn't give him a time frame. You can wait 'till he's more mature to explain it all to him. I'm sure you won't have to wait 'till he's eighty-seven for that. Though you may want to tone the flirting down, that doesn't help."

"I wasn't—"

"—you were too."

"Fine. I was, but I didn't mean to, it just feels… pleasing with Dean. No other human makes me feel… human."

I don't let him see me smile. That's love—it brings out the humanity in us all. I understand love even if I don't always like love, love's not all hearts and flowers, it's also pain, suffering, stark loneliness—it's worth all the bad though. And it's true, we can't pick who we love as much as it's a choice all in the same. Yeah, love's the biggest contradiction there is. "Well it won't feel so pleasing when Cas finds out and he will. It's not the right time."

"I know. Which is why I should leave and not come back for a few years. I've opened some kind of door with Dean I don't think can be closed."

And, I think they were on a one way track to barrel though that door at some point anyway, but this is definitely not _when_ I saw it coming. "It's all gonna work out, Michael."

"I appreciate your eternal optimism Dallas, but you can't know that. In all probability, things are not going to work out."

"Well not today they won't, but in time." I finish up the dishes and get him to tell me about the bees thing, then inform him we're going shopping at Bed, Bath and Beyond when Sam gets back, so he should get dressed. He's 'thrilled.'

**

"Do we need to have this conversation over my lap, son?" I do my best impression of my father.

"We don't, sir. Daddy told me off already."

A lot of good it did. "Lose the attitude Dean."

"I'm trying, sir, I am. I'm frustrated."

"That's better." I lean against my desk and put on what Dean's knows are my listening ears. "Tell me what's going on."

"It feels like I can't _do_ anything."

"That's the trials and tribulations of being fourteen I'm afraid."

"I've been a kid for over twenty years, sir."

"I am aware and we've told you we're open to giving you whatever privileges you earn, that's the rule for any Winchester, you know that. You receive privileges based on what your maturity can handle, as decided by Daddy and I."

"I know. It's taking a long time to earn certain privileges sir. I'd like to… I want to start dating, Papa."

I try to remember what it was like being fourteen and ruled by hormones, when sex seemed like a big deal. "You've got your whole life for sex Mr. Winchester." I wonder if it's not too late to get him into a Monastery.

"I didn't say sex Papa. I said dating—like taking someone to a movie, or something."

I remember what Sam and I used to do in movie theaters. Sex stuffs like blow jobs and making out while we had each others hands down our pants. "You're too young end for dating of story."

"Okay, but, when will I be old enough, sir?"

"I don't know."

He doesn't say anything disrespectful, but I can tell he's not pleased with me and let me say for the record, as much as he doesn't like me displeased with him, I don't like him displeased with me any better. I feel like I'm letting him down, but I can't tell my teenage son to go have sex, can I? I know what Sam would say on the matter.

"No dating till I'm forty-six. Got it. May I go please, sir?"

"Not until you understand you're too young for this kind of drama period. You should be focusing on your studies."

"My GPA is a four point oh, sir. Again."

"I expect you to keep it there. This is your second time through grade nine, there's no reason why it should drop." I'm hard on him. I know. Pressure is how diamonds are made.

"I'm captain of my hockey team, we're best in our division."

"You know how proud of you we are for that."

"President of the debate club, I volunteer at church whenever I'm asked and even when I'm not."

" _Dean._ "

"I'm learning two languages other than English, I was also captain of the Lacrosse team when I played, I killed it in tennis and still do whenever I pick up a racket and I suffered through all those piano lessons without complaint until you finally agreed to let Uncle Dally teach me the guitar."

"You complained a little."

"It wasn't even noteworthy."

"Are you punning me in the middle of your argument?"

"Maybe. Depends. Is it cute enough to make you not want to ground me for my behavior at dinner? …and this morning?"

"Almost. I will concede your points. I think what you're saying is that we coddle you, but look how perfect you are because of it?" I can be cute too.

He smiles. I admire him. He's a strong, good-looking boy, well-behaved most of the time, intelligent, hard-working… we ran out of room on the fridge for all of his achievements. Some days, I wish I could go back to when he was three, showing me his latest scrape and all I had to do was kiss it better—those issues were simpler. I sigh. "My answer to your dating request is still no and I feel it appropriate to remind you the rules about engaging in sexual activities. Keep it in your pants… unless you're alone in your room—"

"—no need to ever add that, sir."

Sam and I have maybe gone overboard in promoting the whole "no shame for your parts" campaign. "However, I will allow you to go to Michael's unsupervised. Upon further review of the direct evidence that has been recently presented, you have earned the privilege."

"Really?"

"Really. This is a big privilege, though, you understand? And it's not free—you're not entitled to it and it can be taken away at anytime."

"It's still awesome! Thank you, sir. Soooo, how about sleepovers?"

"Pushing it, Dean."

"I'm kidding, sir."

"Okay, you are dismissed." I don't know that I've done anything but get swindled. "Behave yourself, oh and you are grounded by the way."

"You couldn't have led with that?"

"Dean."

"I know. I expected it. Would have been surprised if you didn't after both last night and this morning. You run a tight ship, sir."

"Be a good boy Dean Winchester."

"I will… Papa," he says apprehensively.

"C'mere." He runs into my arms and I hold my boy tight thinking about how I'm going to make sure the angel doesn't seduce him when they're alone together.

**

"Hello Father. Was just calling to see if you need me for anything?"

"Michael? No. I'm in New Mexico. Do you need anything?"

That's not an unusual question, but it's not usual either, which leads me to believe he's done something, or is going to do something I won't like—maybe both. I'm just outside the kitchen by the long picnic table, it's dark and getting late, but I needed some privacy. I'm still being held captive and the Winchesters want me to stay over again—or I should say, two Winchesters and one Colt. Since he's not here, I'm not required to ask, I do need to tell Gabriel where I am. "No, sir."

"Good. I might as well tell you now, plans have changed; I can't do it yet. I know what all the books say, but I'm not ready to part from you yet. Let's give it more time, maybe another year."

A year?

"Besides, I didn't like that real estate woman, too pushy."

Fuck. "Did you… did you…?"

"Have her killed? Of course."

Everything sinks. My stomach, my heart, the corner I have carved out for humanity. I can't speak.

"Don't get fussy. At least I didn't have you do it. I could have you know."

There is that. There was a time when killing humans was easy. "I won't get fussy, I'm sure you made the right choice."

"We'll try again. Don't worry."

"It's okay if we don't. I like being home with you, Father." I'd rather him not have people killed over an apartment.

"Then it all worked out. Look, I have to go. I'll be back next week. Why don't you pick out a new vehicle or something?"

"Yes, sir."

I don’t know how to describe how I feel. I'm upset about the woman, but there's nothing I can do about that, it's over and best to move on. I realize now how much I was looking forward to that apartment it would be a get away. I'd have some time away. I'm not stupid, I know he'd have angels watching me all the time. Tom would be with me most of the time, but I could pretend sometimes that I don't belong to him. I can't go in, so I stare out at nothing for a long time.

"Michael?"

In anyone came out to get me, I thought it would be Dallas, or Daddy Winchester, even Dean, but not, "Papa Win—I mean Casti—sir," sniff, "I was just coming in, sir." Fuck. Am I crying? This is ridiculous What for? Loss of freedom? Loss of a some human I didn't know? Loss of… just loss I guess. Loss of something I can't name.

"No, wait. I'd like to have a word with you."

Perfect. This night just got better.

**

"M-Mr. Winchester asked me to s-stay, I," hitch of breath, "s-swear. He won't let me go home."

I think the angel is crying. "And for good reason. You're a mess Michael."

"I'll be in, in a second. I'm fine."

"You're not fine." I can hate him again tomorrow. Even I can't take the sight of the immovable angel crying. I know Sam and Dallas have been up to something with him, they do this often. Michael frantically wipes his eyes.

"It's bad enough you're seeing me like this, if they do, they'll hug me."

I have to remember he's serious, because that is funny, him being so worried about hugs. "They can be suffocating. That's Colts for you." I put my hands in my pockets. "What happened?"

"Nothing you need worry about, sir."

"I'll be the judge of that."

"The apartment thing fell through and Father, look the other part, it's better if you don’t know."

"I'm sorry Michael."

"It's okay. They're going to be shattered."

"That word might be a bit strong."

"They spent over a thousand dollars at Bed Bath and Beyond today."

They might be a tad disappointed. "On the bright side, you get to skip my lecture on having Dean at your apartment." That should make him smile, at least politely, it doesn't. "Okay, that's it. Inside." When he doesn't move I spin him and direct him to the sliding glass kitchen door.

Dean's helping Sam do dishes, Dallas is wiping down the table, Dallas sees Michael first. "Fix this."

I know it's the last thing Michael wants, but it's what he needs. I'm terrible at providing comfort. I somehow manage to pull it together for Dean, often by the skin of my teeth. I'm clueless with Michael. "Oh honey, c'mere. What happened?" Dallas encases Michael and Michael does wrap his skinny arms around Dallas.

"It's no big deal. I'm just, I'm not moving out."

"What? That's horseshit!"

"Dean," Sam says whacking him upside the head.

"Well it is."

Dean and Sam head over and encase Michael, Sam calls me over with his eyes. "Sam," I mouth, but he's not having it, so I join the group hug.

"It's okay, Michael," Sam says.

"You bought all that stuff and you washed most of it."

Sam pulls Michael all to himself when the hug scatters. "You know, I was thinking I wanted to redo the bedroom you stay in sometimes—it's so drab. And the other stuff, I'll save it for when you do move out. Plenty of room here."

Michael looks past Sam's shoulder to me. Lately, it's been getting harder to hate him, especially when he's looking at me like that, knowing I'm the Head of House and giving me respect as such. I nod, saying it's okay he accepts the offer. I'm sure he'll give me some other cause to hate him at some point. Like if I find out he's ever had sex with my son.

"I suppose you can't really take the dishes back either, they were on sale."

"On sale? Oh no, I didn't get those ones. I got the better ones when you weren't looking. Two of my best boys are going to be eating off those plates someday—no complaining. Now c'mon everyone, let's go make the bed."

Much Later

I'm laying in the bed Daddy Winchester tucked me into as he says, "Snug as a bug in a rug." I'm still shaking my head at that, yet I can't help the fondness that seeps into my vessel when I think about it. The wording is complete gobble-de-gook, but he means it and he's so sincere when he says it, I can _feel_ the warmth. Dammit.

That's not the only thing making me ruminate. Dean is on my mind. He always is, but now I have a new problem. I have to fix what I've done before it causes any real damage, but no solutions are forthcoming. Instead I'm wondering what kinds of things he thinks about when he's… thinking about us. Before I know it, my hand is reaching under the blankets—it has a mind of its own—and I'm tugging one out, having my own fantasy, hoping everyone else is tucked in for the night too.

But that's not my luck and I have to pull my hand off just as I'm reaching a climax, because I hear the door squeak open. I sit up, willing my cock to deflate. "Sam?"

It's not Sam though. "Dean? What are you doing in here? We're going to get it trouble."

"Not if you keep your voice down," he whispers, shutting the door.

"Your father has a sixth sense for this kind of thing. I don't feel like being castrated thanks." I do keep my voice down.

Dean doesn't give a fuck about what I'm saying, creeps in further and makes himself at home on the end of the bed. "Someone needs to spank you." I say someone, because I'm still sporting the hard on from Hell and he's not going over my lap like that.

He giggles into the mattress to muffle his laughter. "What is so funny about that? Are you inebriated? Because let me tell you, if you are, that someone will be me." The thought of the dangers of him intoxicated is more than enough to get rid of my boner. There's nothing funny, or arousing about the thought of something bad happening to Dean.

"I'm not drunk Michael. You're just funny. Anyway, I came in here because I couldn’t sleep."

"So? Drink warm milk, count sheep, but get the fuck out of here."

It's like I've said nothing at all. He slips under the covers, by my feet, so his icicle feet are in my face. "Dean."

"I'll leave soon. Just for a minute."

The only way I'm going to get him out is force and I can't be bothered. "What time is it?"

"Two a.m."

"Two? You're going to be tired tomorrow. Hockey practice."

"Yeah. I'll have to pull that one out of my ass, but I can't sleep."

"Neither can I," I admit. Only in my case, I don't need sleep yet, not with all the sleep I got last night. I planned on lying here all night, stewing if just to appease Daddy Winchester.

"I'm sorry you don't get an apartment. Papa was going to let me come over and everything."

"Was he really?"

"Yep."

Dean snuggles against my leg not seeming to mind my feet and squishes his foot into my chest. "Get your toecicles off me."

"In a minute. They're cold. Warm'em up will you?"

What is happening right now? I growl, but for some, unknown reason, I press his feet to me and start rubbing them with my hands. The one thing my grace is good for, is warming my hands without sapping anymore strength than it does to provide my vessel with life. They are amply warm and will warm Dean's ice blocks. "Mmmm, yeah baby. That's the stuff."

"Dean."

He shuts up, hugs my ankles and enjoys his foot warming. There are five blessed minutes of silence. But then he's squirming and wiggling again, just enough to drive me crazy, but not enough to disrupt our position. "I bet next year he'll find you an apartment and I'm totally holding Papa to letting me come over—that contract's legal and fucking binding."

"No it's not. Papa Winchester can change his position on that at any time he wants to."

"He won't though. I'm a good negotiator. I'll negotiate the shit out of him."

"Be lucky he makes the decisions then, if it were me, I'd never allow such a thing. Unsupervised at a _man's_ house at your age? Papa Winchester must be losing his mind." I've learned over my millennia that can happen to humans.

"You're not a man, remember? You tell me all the time you're an angel."

"I didn't think you listened. Imagine my surprise. Will you stop wiggling?"

"I like squishing into you."

"It's annoying."

"Everything annoys you. I'm used to that. Yet another reason I think things _will_ work out between us—I'm the only one on Earth that could possibly live with all your stupid idiosyncrasies. I've been doing it so far, haven't I?"

That twists my gut in a way I know I'm not going to be able to hide from him—not the last part the first part. Sure, in the dark and with him facing the backs of my feet, but not in daylight. "Dean, earlier when we talked, I spoke rashly. I shouldn't make promises I don't know if I can keep."

He freezes and I would be happy he's stopped his incessant wiggling, but it's not a good kind of freezing up, it's the kind humans do when someone's informed them someone has died. It's like that for one hundred and thirty-six seconds then he's on top of me, his knees on either side of my vessels, the blankets tangled, a hand pinning each of my shoulders down. I could over power him, easily. We both know it, but with the way his eyes are glinting at me in the bit of unnatural light coming in the window from the outside lights, I won't move. Dean's terrifying like this. I love it. It's a hard feeling to distinguish because frightening as he is, I want to pull him closer to me, I want to take him and feel his power filling me, knowing that I belong to him.

That feeling builds between both of us, 'till it's in the air is crackling with it. Nothing feels right anymore and it's like someone set my body on fire with a burning need to have him closer—he feels so far away. When we collide it's like nothing I've ever experienced. His hot mouth on mine and the feeling that no matter how pressed together we are we're never going to get close enough. I want to absorb him into me, like sinking into a hot bath. My hand is at the small of his back, the other at the back of his head and one of my legs pinning him to me as I slide my tongue into his mouth. He's not just holding on for the ride, he's got both hands on my face, not letting go for anything and one of his legs is locked around my ass.

It's like neither of us has ever kissed anyone before—it's sloppy, but we don't care, our teeth gnash, I bite his lips, he sucks mine. We kiss lips then he takes a turn, inserting his tongue to tangle with mine, alternating between kissing more lips and tongues and lips. He seems to really like my bottom lip, which is good because I like his top one. There's panting, the smacking sound of lips and even groans from both of us. Nothing has ever felt more perfect, or right, or sensual. Nothing has ever ignited this much passion in me and if Dean says he's had this, he's lying and I'll find the fucker and bury them. Dean isn't for them. No one can have him.

We seem to know the right time to pull away, we both have to stare in awe of what just happened, the electric thrum finally having died down to a manageable hum. We stay tangled and enjoy the aftermath as if we've just had a really great round of sex, only it's so much more than that. It's indescribable. I've always known how much I cared for Dean—okay, perhaps not always. At first, he was an obsession. I only knew that he was the only thing in my thoughts, what's Dean doing? Has he been fed? Has he been watered? Have the humans killed him yet? I knew early on that it was my job to protect him.

It didn't take long for me to figure out caring. After one too many bouts of my special, intense compulsion to clean, especially when I felt out of control over Dean, I realized that I wasn't just obsessed, I was in love. Dean became the object of my days and nights. It took some time for me to understand what love felt like, but once I knew, I _knew_. I'd never loved anything before and the feeling was, _is_ so overwhelming, most days I can't bear it.

But this opens floodgates to desire. Loving him and desiring him are a deadly combo and I could never comprehend how much my whole body would feel like bursting and constricting all at once. It's all so _right._ I didn't know I needed this, until about five seconds ago. It doesn't change that it can never happen again.

"You're a fucking liar, Michael."

Wait a minute, is he crying?

"What the hell?"

"I knew it. I knew you were attracted to me—why did you make me think you weren't?"

"I-I told you. Your father."

Sniff. "Yeah, he does hate you—that's probably why, he can tell." He sniffles and wipes his face on my shirt."

"Get a Kleenex for that!" I whisper yell.

"Well, I'm good at keeping secrets. We don't have to tell anyone."

Fuck. I've made this worse. How did I think kissing the life out of him wouldn't? Not much thinking went into that decision. "No."

"Why not?"

"What do you mean why not? It's obvious. I want to stay alive and you're too young."

"Does everyone forget I've been fourteen for a year already? I'm basically fifteen."

And I've lost track of the amount of times I've been fourteen. I'm not going into that now though. "That doesn't make it any better."

"You're like an old rock—a really hot old rock. Age is inconsequential to a rock. It doesn't matter what age I am, you'll still be so many years older there's no way to comprehend it."

"I am not a rock. And it's simple, you're a minor according to human law. We go with that."

"Because you always follow human law."

"That's not the point, Dean."

"You have no point, let's kiss again."

"No."

"Fine. I'm starting to get tired anyway."

I run a hand through his hair. "Then you should go back to your room."

"But this is nicer, don't you want me to stay—tell the truth."

"You're a pain in my fucking ass, you know that? But.. Yeah. I want you to stay, I just really don't want either of us getting in trouble."

"You're afraid of Daddy's spoon," he says yawning.

"And castration tools." We are in a very compromising position.

"My parents are fast asleep and Uncle Dal went back to his place, we're good."

He snuggles into me further. "That was some kiss though, huh?"

"Was just a kiss."

"But it was _ours_ Michael. Our first time."

"Not true. What about the time I kissed you in the summer the treehouse was built. You were eight and I was eleven."

"That doesn’t count. We were just kids."

"You're a kid now."

"It was nothing like that Michael. Nothing's ever been like that."

Can't argue that.

"I'm always gonna remember this as our first kiss."

"You say that like you think there will be more, which there won't be."

"Will."

"Won't."

"Will."

"Won't—Dean!"

"Tell you what, if you can kiss me just one more time without _that_ happening, I'll leave you alone forever." He's smug as fuck, sure of the outcome.

I'll show him. "Okay. I'll kiss you one more time, then you leave me alone."

"No way. That's not the deal. You kiss me one more time and if _that_ doesn't happen, I'll leave you alone forever, it does and there's no way I'm leaving you alone."

Okay, easy. I'll just give him a limp Gramma-kiss and this whole nightmare is over. "Fine."

"Do it then."

I lean in to kiss him again, full intentions of a wet-noodle kiss, but even approaching his lips seems sacred. I go in slow and kiss him more sensually than I mean to. My lips press to his and before I know it, I'm pulling away, just so I can go in for another kiss—there's just nothing fucking like it. How can one human taste so good? I can't get enough and it's exactly like Sam's description of sugar addiction—one taste and I can't stop. I kiss him repeatedly, until I'm slipping my tongue in again and it's over from there. Over. Time ceases to exist and I don't even know how long I've kissed him, nor do I care at this point. I only need his lips and his body pressing into mine. I don't even care if the so-called Zombie Apocalypse has begun—I'm staying here to kiss Dean.

"Wow," he says when we finally do pull away again. "Somehow that was better."

It really was. I can't argue, but I am _not_ encouraging him. "It was just a kiss."

"Just a…? Bullshit. You must 'a kissed me like, twenty times. If it was _just_ a fucking kiss, why'd you keep doin—"

I've already fucked this up anyway. I start kissing him again, just to shut him up and because, yeah, it was better the second time, I want to see if it's better still the third…

"You… lose, Michael," he says between rounds of me attacking his mouth and him attacking mine back.

 _No I didn't._ "I guess so, now shut up and kiss me."

This is a problem. A big fucking problem. It's not going to get better, it's going to get worse. Already something fundamental has changed between us in a way that can never be changed back. And fuck me straight to Hell, I don’t want it to.

**

It's been a long-ass day and I'm tired. Hockey practice came early at five fucking thirty am. Then I had to deal with fucking Keith. I have sex with the guy once time and suddenly he's thinking His and His towels. Fuck that shit. Does sex really have to be this complicated? Okay, that might be a bit of an exaggeration, but he was hoping to hook up again. He got the hint eventually and moved on.

When Papa and I get home, it's looking pretty much how it has been the past couple days; Michael at the kitchen table, Daddy doing stuff, Uncle Dal being Uncle Dal. Michael's reading a book and humming something. "Is that the Charles in Charge theme song?" I ask. At the same time, my whole body feels like it's lifting on air. Michael and I made out heavily last night, for a really long fucking time and I can't stop thinking about it, or when we get to do it again. But no one can know, so I keep my cool, heading over to Daddy like I always do, giving him a squeeze and snagging a homemade cookie. Michael's absently eating one of his own.

No one answers my question. "How was school, baby?" Daddy asks me.

"Good. Here." I pull out my math test. Perfect. One hundred percent. Daddy likes to put them on the fridge.

"Good Job! I'll put that… somewhere. Maybe a few of these can come down."

Right. Daddy still has a picture of a llama I drew him when I was six up there. He says it's too endearing for him to ever take down. I begin operation avoid-Michael-but-not-too-much, by making sure not to pay too much attention to him, trying to act like I always do, but suddenly, I can't remember that is. _This is a helluva lot easier when I don't give a shit about the person I'm doing stuff with._

"Hey Uncle Dal."

"Hey half pint," he says taking a last swing of his tea and standing up. "I'm actually just on the way to the airport to pick up your uncle Chris. You wanna come with me?"

And watch their pornographic reunion? No thanks. "Um, I've got homework Uncle Dal."

He laughs. "See you later, cowboy."

I take my usual seat next to Michael (who's still reading his damn book and not looking at me) and Daddy brings me more cookies with tea. I can't help feeling like Papa's watching us. Is he? Fuck am I paranoid. Maybe this was a fucking bad idea. In any case, I want to get Michael outside. "Hey, want to go to the mall Michael?"

"Not so fast Mr. Winchester. You're grounded, remember?"

Fuck. I forgot. "Ah right, sir. We can go outside though, can't we Papa?" I give him the Dean eyes.

He squints at me and swipes a cookie from the tray on the counter. Yep he's suspicious. Definitely suspicious. But what the fuck did I do? "I thought you said you had homework?"

"Did you see my math test Papa? One hundred percent."

"That's not what I asked you."

Yeah, shouldn't have suspected that one to work two days in a row. "I can get it done quickly after dinner, sir."

"If you can get it done speedily, I want your homework done _before_ dinner and perhaps we should talk about that with your school—it's been too easy for you this year—maybe you need extra homework, learn a third language or something. Idle hands are the devil's workshop." Only Papa can say stuff like that while eating cookies and have it look completely normal.

"Okay, Clyde Winchester," Daddy says. "Dean, do your homework then _I_ have a job for you."

Ugh! I want to bang my head against a wall. Why won't my parents stop thinking up ways to keep me from making out with Michael? I mean, they don't know they're doing that, but it is what they're doing. What a time for their fucking spide-y senses to go off. "Yes, Father," I say to Daddy, 'cuz he's being so strict right now. They can _both_ be Father. "If I do all that, then am I free?"

I don't get an answer to that either; I've gone too far, Daddy is pissed. I'd know that sound anywhere, it haunts my childhood: Daddy's wooden spoon drawer opening. "Come here, please."

"But, I'm sorry."

"You've been talked to about your attitude for days. You need a reminder," Daddy says. His brow is furrowed and he's wearing his displeased look. It also happens to be his _get over here before I have to retrieve you_ look.

Because I'm not stupid (or I guess really stupid, stupid was continuing to mouth off in the first place) I leave my cookie and slide my chair out with a glance to Michael, whose eyes are smiling. _Asshole._ I've been spanked in front of Michael plenty, but right now, it feels like the first time and my cheeks are hot, embarrassed to death. "I'm waiting," Daddy says with his arms crossed, spoon in hand, the biceps peeking out of his rolled up, red flannel sleeves looking way too foreboding.

"Ooooh!" I whine and stomp my foot like a fucking toddler. "This is so unfair!" I undo my school pants though.

He takes over and skins my pants and boxers down, all the while Papa's eyes are on me, sorry he didn't take initiative. This isn't the norm. It's more often Papa taking me to task; I guess he really was in a good mood. Daddy doesn't bother flipping me over a knee, a counter, nothing, he just spins me around and starts in with his nasty-ass wooden spoon. "What's unfair is your attitude, I've had enough, I know Papa's had enough and even Michael."

"Ow! I-I'm sorry, Daddy."

He's relentless, and he knows how to wield that spoon with precision, from many years of practice on not just my bottom, but a mess of Colts. I once saw him lay into Jesse and Beau with Nana's spoon and reduce them to tears—and they're fucking tough! My ass stings warmly when he's done with me and I'm wiping a couple tears away as he's pulling up my clothes, but he's still not done. "You're going to sit down there and clean up your attitude, or I'm happy to spank you again."

Noooo thank you, I head to my seat and do up my pants not looking forward to sitting down. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry Daddy."

"You know, Dean, when I was your age, I barely had free time," Papa says.

Here we go. One of Papa's when I was your age lectures. _That_ gets me a smile from Michael who is still very interested in his book. "Neither did Daddy, he looked after Colts all day. You're lucky all you have to do is homework."

"It's true Dean. We don't ask you to do much and that's on us, but it doesn't hurt to be grateful for the leisure we give you."

"Okay, I get it. I'm being a spoiled brat. Forgive me?" Sniff.

Papa doesn’t want to, but his eyes smile at me. That doesn't mean he's letting me off the hook. "Of course you're forgiven, Kiddo. You look tired."

Fuck. I go with the truth, mostly. "I couldn't sleep well last night Papa."

That makes him smile—it shouldn't, he's found an angle hasn't he? One that doesn't end in me locking lips with Michael. "Ah, well, an early night then. You and Michael will have to hang out another night. Sam?"

Dammit.

Daddy gives Michael the once over. "Michael is released from captivity."

"It's about time," he says putting a bookmark to hold his place. "I've got plans."

That gives me a horrible feeling in my stomach and you know? Maybe homework _is_ a good fucking idea.

"Good. Michael, leave. Dean, homework. Sam, my office." Once _Papa has spoken_ he leaves with a whip of his trench coat, taking another cookie with him. Daddy shrugs. I give Michael a parting glare and storm off doing my best imitation of Papa.

I'm fuming as I march up the stairs and think about what, no, _who_ Michael might have plans with tonight. He seemed excited to leave. And why shouldn't he? I'm just the stupid kid he made out with last night, like the planet was going to explode any minute. I'm only his profound bond, or whatever. Who the fuck even cares? Well that's fine. I'm never kissing him again. Never. Ever. Not _never!_

I make it to the hallway where my bedroom is and in the middle of my planning never to see Michael again, I'm assailed by one hundred and eighty pounds of angel and pinned to the wall. I don't see his face, but I know it's him. His lips are on mine, his hands sliding up my body as his tongue caresses mine and when his hands reach my armpits, he lifts me, so I can wrap my legs around his torso. He walks into my room, kicking the door shut, us still kissing, trapped in a frenzy that's more powerful the two of us. "What… about… my… … parents…?" We can't stop kissing.

"Don't you know… what… … Sam my… office is… … code for?"

That helps. "Ew!"

He pulls away. "You want me to stop?"

"Fuck no, the thing about my parents."

"Thank Christ." It's not often Michael uses a lord's name in vain; I note that. I fucking like that, seems more dirty somehow. Then he's kissing me again, on my bed.

We kiss and even get a little hands-y, when I remember that I'm pissed. I push him away. "What the fuck Michael?"

"I thought about you all god damned day, Dean. Fuck. You're like angel crack. Your lips." He goes in for another kiss, which I allow then force myself to stop again.

"What about your plans? You couldn't wait to leave."

"I knew you couldn't do it."

"Do what?" I say as his hand pushes my shirt up and starts sucking on my belly. My hips jut forward, fuck, my cock is way too interested. I wonder if I can convince Michael to blow me?

"Keep this a secret." I guess that's what we're gonna keep calling our kissing sessions. _This._ "One of us had to keep our cool. Your father is onto you Dean, he's noticed something's up. What was I supposed to do?"

"So you didn't want to leave?"

"No. I want to do this."

My tummy swoops in the best way when he leans into kiss me again. We spend a long time exploring each other; mouths, bodies, fuck, everything. I could do this forever. We part after who knows how long, my bed is a fucking mess and so is our hair and clothes. Michael's smiling at me like I've never seen him. It's all perfect. Just the way I imagined this would be. "I-I guess you should go huh?"

He nods. "I don't want to, but this is already risky—no matter what your parents are doing at the moment."

Any erection I might have had is gone. He doesn't leave though, head resting on my chest, thinking so loudly I can hear him. "What?"

"You didn't get your after spanking cuddles. If I have to suffer through that, so do you."

I laugh. "It's not like there's an expiry on those Michael. I'm sure Daddy and Papa will smother me later."

He gets up to go. "Michael wait! What-what are we?"

"I have no fucking idea Dean—you realize this is a big fat mess don't you?"

I nod.

He runs a hand through my hair again and kisses my forehead. "We shouldn't do this."

"No." He's right. I don't want to admit it, but he's fucking right. "How we gonna, you know, put this on hold?"

"It's easy, we just don't kiss. Go back to the way things were before."

"They're pretty nice kisses though, couldn't we, once in a while? Like for special occasions."

"Special occasions?"

"Yeah, you know, my birthday… your birthday—"

"I don't have a birthday."

"Yes you do."

"If you're referring to the random cake Daddy Winchester surprises me with once a year, that's not my birthday."

"Um, newsflash, it's not that random. It's in his date book."

"What are you doing looking in his date book?"

"Habit."

He looks at me like he's making a note. At least he drops it. "Anyway, what do you think?"

"I think that, oh yes, today is a special occasion—we celebrate _this._ "

"You know? I think you're right." I plan on making up a shit-load of 'special occasions' too.

He leans into kiss me again. "I'd better go for real this time. You're just going to be here tonight, right?"

"Yeah Michael. I'm grounded remember? And it looks like I get no clemency."

"See that you do." The growl in his voice is fucking hot and it's new. It's not like Michael's never given me an order in his life, he's given me plenty, he's spanked me and all that, but this is different somehow. I've never thought of Michael as a brother (even though people always think we are) or even an older guardian, so it's never been like that, yet he's been an authority figure all the same. Right now, it's got the knife-edge of something else—a dichotomy; it's dangerous and safe at the same time.

It doesn't matter that I dig it, I feel like I should argue it. "Whatever, Michael."

In a flash, our position is changed and I'm in a position I know all too well: Face down over his lap. He doesn't pull my pants down, but he doesn't need to for me to feel the sting, especially since my ass is still warm from Daddy's spanking. "Ow! Michael."

"That word is irritating. I said you're staying put, Dean and so you will."

I get five more smacks before he stands me up, I'm rubbing and now _I'm_ irritated. "That hurt."

He doesn't feel sorry for me. "Daddy Winchester was too easy on you."

As far as spankings go, it was anything to write home about, but that doesn't mean I can't go right back over his knee. "I'll stay put. It's not like I'm gonna disobey Papa."

He nods, stands and wipes off his pants. "Good. Behave, Duck."

He looks like Michael, acts like Michael, Hell he is Michael, but something's fucking different. I think… I think nothing's going to be the same again.

**

It's Friday. After school. Sometimes the Hockey team ends up here at the Bistro before a game, or even after a game. I'm here because I had a match and because I wanted to see if I could catch a certain hockey player. Dean and Keith did it, or so the rumor-mill goes, but they weren't as close after practice. In fact, Keith had his arm around Howard, like having sex made him a man over night.

I can't wait to see what happens this afternoon. The band of hockey brothers file in like usual, they all order pizza. It's a bit early before a game, but sometimes they do homework together while they eat. Dean's not with them. I'm disappointed, but not for long. In strolls Winchester, his broad shoulders decked out in his slightly over sized hockey jacket, his hockey bag trailing behind him (seriously, they pretty much take up half of the Bistro with all their shit). Holding the door open for Dean, is Michael.

Right away, I can see that something's changed between them, which I can't figure out. They're not touching, talking, or even looking at each other, but the air between them is almost visible—like there's a chain connecting them. I don't know if anyone else can see what I can, but even if they can't, no one's going to mistake them for brothers now—unless they're a complete moron.

"Hey guys, mind if Michael joins us?"

No one's going to say no to that, but the discomfort of the group is clear. Something about Michael says wolf in sheep's clothing. A really hot sheep's clothing! There's only one chair though, in the middle, where Dean usually sits, so everyone can sit around him and bask in his brightness all wanting to be touched by it. Michael doesn't give any fucks about who is supposed to sit where. He takes another chair from wherever he wants and makes it clear he's slotting it in beside Dean.

They pull out their books, Alec and Martin get up to grab the pizzas and when they're settled, it's quiet. Michael doesn't seem to have anywhere he needs to be. I've watched them a long time, since I can remember, they've always moved in sync with one another, like two halves of a whole, but there's another layer of that today. Michael's doing shit on his phone, Dean's doing homework, but whenever Dean moves, Michael moves, when Michael moves, Dean moves, like they have to adjust to accommodate the air between them that's pushing against the other, until each is comforted and consolidated.

I can't put my finger on what's different between now and Monday, but I can say that Dean and Michael have undergone a shift. Perhaps insignificant and even covert, but for them it was the tipping point to everything. Whatever it was, I know I won't be making any moves on Dean in light of it. Others won't see what happened and they might, but if Dean invites me for a locker room jaunt one day, I'm saying no. People will think I'm crazy for turning down Dean Winchester and maybe I will be, but I won't fuck with the power between those two, not only is it lethal, it's magnificent. It's also something unstable, maybe even unmanageable in its magnitude—someone like me could never handle that—but it's their's and it's special. They're gonna have enough forces trying to take it away from them; I won't be one.

Fuck. I almost knock over my drink when I realize I've been staring too long. All the other hockey boys have gotten up to head out of the Bistro and to the rink, like they do most Fridays, which leaves Michael to see me staring and scowl, probably thinking I'm checking out Dean (and usually I am). Michael's ire attracts Dean's attention, he looks up and I wave awkwardly. "Uh, hi Alvin," Dean says, elbowing Michael hard and I'm grateful that Michael's death glare is turned onto Dean who can contend with it. I grab my stuff and run out of the Bistro with no plans of being here afternoons in the future.

**

"Who was that kid?" Michael's teeth look like they're grating granite.

"Alvin. He's probably high—it's rumored he does a lot of 'shrooms."

"'Shrooms?"

"Yeah. Mushrooms."

"Humans in this era use mushrooms to get high?"

"Yeah, you've really never heard that before?"

"No. They're medicine, not a—Dean, you're not to hang out with that boy."

"Whoa, easy Dad."

"I mean it Dean."

"Fuck off, Michael." The rest of the boys are gone, but I took my time packing up my stuff, now I regret it. "When did you become the boss of me?"

"I've always been the boss of you."

"If you think kissing me gives you some kinda right over me, you can kiss my go to Hell," I say in a hushed voice, hoping no one can hear.

" _Dean._ "

"I'm dead serious, Michael."

"Well I'm dead serious when I say that if I catch you around him and his _'shrooms,_ I'll give you a spanking you won't forget."

Fuck. Why is that a turn on, something I want to deck him for and heed all at once? It's never felt quite like that before. Whenever Michael's threatened me with spanking in the past, yeah I wanted to deck him sometimes, yeah I obeyed, but a turn on? Fuck that went straight to my groin—I don't know that it's all sexual though, there's something else to it. Did he change his voice or something?

I realize he's still scowling at me, hard and I think he is going to spank me right here if I don't say something soon. "Okay, Jesus. We're not friends anyway."

We walk out of the Bistro together with my hockey bag trailing behind us. Michael waits 'till we're in a deserted hallway. He looks around to check for parents, or anyone and pulls me to him for a kiss. We didn't get to make out in the car like we planned on and it feels too long since we last kissed, like I'm fucking dehydrated and Michael's Gatorade. It's quick though, which is good, this is fucking risky. "I've been waiting to do that all day," he says.

I beam. "We need to be careful."

He rolls his eyes. "Angel, remember?"

Fuck, I'm blushing. _Michael_ is making me blush. "Right."

"Okay, I'm leaving now. I'll be back to pick you up."

"You're not staying?"

"In case you haven't noticed, something monumental has changed between us."

"Because we kiss now?"

"Yes, Dean. And because of that, if I have to watch anyone slash or check, or fuck, _fight_ you, I'll kill them."

"You're never gonna watch me play hockey again?"

"Just, give me a chance to get used to everything and we'll see."

"Fine. What we doing after?"

"Nothing. You're still grounded, I'm taking you home."

I hate being grounded, I'd rather be spanked. "Yeah, yeah. But maybe, maybe we… you'll stay?" Because I need to fucking make out with him some more. I don't even know how well I'm going to do in this game thinking of kissing him.

"I thought that was a given. Dean I don't think… I need these." He swoops in for another kiss. It's quick, but it still seems to be another hit of the happy juice we're both drunk on. We laugh together, sharing our secret. We're both happy. So fucking happy.

Except.

Underneath, way deep down below all the happy is a stupid undercurrent of, _this is too good to be true._ I claw at it and try to peel it from the dark crevice it's hiding under, so I can push it away, but it won't budge. It's just there, bleeding darkness into what has to be one of the best moments of my life. I have no other choice but to ignore it, so I do—put a rug over it. Whatever's waiting in the shadows to hunt _this_ between Michael and I, I'll face it head on and it better be fucking ready, because I'll die before I let anything take Michael and _this,_ away from me. Michael is mine.

He's _mine._

Mine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Possible Triggers: 
> 
> Abuse: There are mentions of abuse and abuse psychology with reference to Michael and his "father."
> 
> Underage: Dean and Michael end up kissing. Their ages could be considered controversial I suppose, but honestly, how old is Dean really in this story? How old is Michael? Who the hell knows? Either way, it's very PG. #mockpromsies
> 
> Charles in Charge Theme song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w1PuZFWdKYo You know you wanna...


	12. When Papa Comes Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise, it is I Mock. This "little" Time Stamp was supposed to be short and of course, as usual, it ended up super long and wouldn't end! So I worked on it much longer than I had intended. 
> 
> I have been getting questions about the stories I'm working on, so I'll share here: 
> 
> I'm half way through a WW chapter and I'm gearing up to write the last 3 chapters of MMY. I'm still working on that book project for RL, so much of my time has to go to that atm. But if you want to read something in the meantime, there is always my published work, Tristan. Which I'm not sure if I'm allowed to link here, but just mention in the comments if you want the link and I'm sure I can get it to you. 
> 
> But back to this story, I apologize for the lack of spanking (there is a little though) and lack of sex. LOL But I DO have more spanking and sexcapades coming as always. I always think I write too much spanking, but then I have all you wonderful spankos to keep shouting, "MORE SPANKING MOCK!" and that does make me happy, but once in awhile, well I guess my muse just decides to write other things. Sorry! You know it's not often though ;) 
> 
> Hope you enjoy though! 
> 
> One other thing, as a little Poll, which story are you hoping to see updated most? I will attempt to muse the one that gets the most "votes" in the comments. :)

My eyes snap open, in time with our bedroom and my little sleepy-faced boy is standing there, looking small and tiny, next to the large, tall door. We always leave it open a crack, so he can push it open easily. When he sets eyes on me, he smiles huge from behind his soother and he runs over to me. Yeah, he's four, and still has a soother, but at least he's out of diapers.

He expects me to lift him into our bed and I do, opening the covers and snuggling him to me, kissing him all over. "Is it time to get up, baby boy?"

"Yeah, Daddy. Where's Papa?" he asks for the seventh time this week. He asks every morning and I would have just kept him in our bed by now, but Cas has already warned me that he'd better not come home to find a little boy who's addicted to sleeping in our bed, like he did last time. I don't know why he bothers trying, it's a losing battle anyway—Dean is destined to find his way into our bed for Daddy and Papa cuddles.

"He's working, remember? He had to go far away, but guess what?"

"What?"

"He comes home today."

His smile returns in full. "An' he's gonna play all night with me, when, when he comes home," he says, sure of it.

No matter how tired Cas is when he gets home from a work trip, he makes special time to play with his boy. He's such a good Papa, putting Dean's needs ahead of his own, even when it's hard.

"You bet, now how about breakfast and we can make Papa a picture?" which will be his seventh picture. We've been making them all week. Dean goes through phases of Papa being gone. I thought he'd be used to it by now, but he never seems to get used to it. Sometimes are only better than others though, this was not one of those times.

All week, Dean's been a little melancholy. Sometimes, he just needs that solid Papa strength. "Okay, Daddy."

I swing my legs off the bed, taking my boy with me and slip my feet into slippers. It's going to be a usual day in Winchester House, filled with chaos and mayhem. I'm going to need coffee for this.

In a Bedroom Across the House 

"Babe, Baby…babe, you gotta wake up, Sam's gonna be up soon."

"C'mon Dals, just a few more minutes. This house is the size of Grant's Tomb, I'll be out like a ninja."

"No, up Chris. Out."

"Fine, fine. I don't see what the big deal is anyway. You're an adult, as if you can't have lovers stay over."

"First, no I can't, because I'm not introducing my tiny nephew to a new 'lover' on a regular basis."

"Damn right you're not."

"And two, you're not just some lover Chris and you know it."

"We said we're not back together, I just came because, well, _you know_ and you helped me out—what's wrong with that?"

"What's wrong is we had sex."

This is a disaster. Of course I knew it would be, but I can't say no to Chris and I really oughta learn to. I'm not going to say no when he needs my help with spanking, I told him I'm always here for him for that, no matter what, but after that, I should have kicked him out. He looked at me though, with those deep Winchester blues and I fell into bed with him instead. I wanted to ravage him and I did. I'm not an animal—but you wouldn't have known the difference last night.

"We're family, Dals. This is my brother's house, I'm allowed to be here. We're friends. I'm just a friend who needed a place to crash."

"I snuck you in. Sammy's goin' to freak. No. No more sleeping, up. Up!"

"All right, but can I have a shower at least?"

I smack his bare, sore ass. "Okay, I'm goin'." That's what he says, but what he does, is crawl up my body and start kissing my lips. He tastes so good and beyond that, he's just Chris, the man I'm madly in love with, the Winchester I'm gone for.

Before I know it, my hand is reaching down to play with his dick, which is ready to go. Blindly, he reaches for the lube in the nightstand and not much prep is needed, before he sinks his cock into me and fucks into me, slow and careful, like he might never see me again.

When we finish, he really needs to go and like always, I don't want him to, anymore than he does (he claimed to need more sleep, and a shower, but he just wants to stay). Eventually, he does slip clothes on, along with my Kenny Chesney hat and then is out the bedroom door with a final kiss. I don't let him see me cry, but I do into my pillow.

**

Dean's set in his booster chair at the kitchen table with some ham, eggs and fruit, and Pala's by his feet to catch the ham, eggs and fruit that falls from Dean. It's moments like these where I'm kinda glad neither Cas or Michael are here. Both cringe at out messy eater and prefer to feed him. I like him to feed himself and take his time. I'm lucky and most days, I'm not in a rush to do anything with him. Breakfast can take as long as we want it to.

I usually eat with him, but today I'm packing us a lunch, with plans of a day out at the park. Cas won't be home until dinner and Dean's antsy about his papa coming home, it's better we're out of the house.

Dallas meanders downstairs, he's still in his pajamas, which is not unusual, but something is off about my brother. Dally always has a sunny disposition, and sure, he's smiling, but he looks like he's faking it today. His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Mornin' Sammy. Dean!" I can tell all that jubilance is forced.

"Papa's coming home today!" Dean tells him.

"Wow, someone's excited, huh?"

Dally sits down beside him—he doesn't mind Dean's messy eating, he grew up with Colts. "You want some ham, Uncle Dally?"

"I'm good Half Pint, I'll make myself something in a minute."

A good cup of coffee always makes a day brighter, I fix one up for Dal and hand it to him. He smiles politely. "Thanks Sammy."

I run a hand through his hair. "You all right, Dal?" Maybe he's coming down with something.

"Yeah, fine. Just tired. I was up late. Couldn't sleep."

Hmmm. Stilted response, that's not like Dal either. "I'll fix you some breakfast, you just sit right there." I head over to kitchen island as the sliding glass door opens, admitting Michael, who's dressed like he's expecting a blizzard. He's got a long jacket on, with gloves and a burgundy, striped scarf. "What's with the scarf Michael? You steal that from a Gryffindor?" I ask, while Pala rushes over to greet him, barking. She loves Michael, even if Michael doesn't love her so much.

"Har, har. Very f-f-funny." The teen is shivering as he glares at Pala, but he does reach a gloved hand out to pat her, knowing she won't quiet until he does.

"What's wrong with you Michael? It's gotta be sixty degrees already," I ask.

"I-I-I, touched something of my uncle's. It was a-a-an accident, but he refuses to give me the antidote and said I'm to wait until th-th-the effects wear off."

"Until then, you, what? Feel like you're in an ice box?" Dal asks.

"P-P-Pretty much. It had a frost spell woven into it. Would kill a human in seven days, wouldn't usually affect an angel at all, but of course, m-m-me. My uncle said it should wear off by evening."

"Does the jacket help?" Dal asks.

"A little. It's like I get shock waves of arctic winds that go through me every so often. In between waves, the jacket and scarf serve to warm me back up."

"Lordy be, Michael. Why didn't you say? I can warm you up in between, good."

"N-not ne-necessary."

I don't listen to him. I've already got a kettle of water boiling for the hot water bottle and I'm off to get a blanket. When I come back, Dean's already chatting to Michael, telling him all about how when Papa gets home, they're going to build a sandcastle and play ninjas.

Michael doesn’t appear to appreciate my fussing, but I don't care. I divest him of his jacket and scarf (but leave his gloves) and wrap him in the warm duvet. He looks like a pissed off snake. Thankfully the kettle is chirping, so I race off to fill the water bottle. "Michael's cold, Daddy," Dean tells me and I smile. He finally speaks well enough people besides, Dal, Cas and me, can make out what he's saying. It took awhile. Of course I've always been able to figure him out, but the extended family sometimes had to get me to translate a word here and there. It took him six years to get to four. For whatever reason, his speech suffered most from the Modlenol he was spiked with. This is not the usual case, just Dean and a rare few others.

"Well Daddy's, gonna warm him up, Dean Bean."

When I've got the water bottle filled, I open Michael's blanket for him and place it around his middle wrapping him back up. "There, you're snug as a bug in a rug, sweetheart."

"As if this is going to make a difference."

"Your teeth are chattering less."

It's not often I can leave Michael with nothing to say, I can't help enjoy when I do. "That's 'cause you're snug as a bug in a rug Michael! Daddy can fix everything," Dean informs him.

My whole body beams. Dean won't always think that, I'm sure they'll be a time where he hates me and thinks I can't do anything, maybe even embarrass him—teenagers are usually embarrassed by their parents—for now, I like being his hero. "Why do I have a feeling there's more to this story, Michael?"

"It's not something I can talk about, Mr. Winchester."

I eye him suspiciously, but let it go. A lot of my attention's still on Dally anyway. I get back to fixing him breakfast and I start throwing a plate together for Michael too. I don't know about angels, but eating warms up humans, but stimulating their metabolism.

"Most of that ham is ending up in the dog, you realize Mr. Winchester," Michael comments from the peanut gallery.

Wasn't I just saying about how Michael and Cas get annoyed with Dean's messy eating? I am used to grouchy Michaels by now though. I set breakfast in front of both of them. "I've got plenty more ham Michael."

Dean's oblivious to Michael's complaining. "He gave you some," Dean says pointing to Michael's plate.

"I don't know why I thought coming here would cheer me up."

Michael's grouchier than usual, he's not going to like what I have to say, but being a parent isn't about being liked all the time. "If you don't warm up soon, I'm putting you in a hot bath."

The glare I get is picture worthy. "You are not giving me a bath," he says, but without confidence. He knows by now, I am if I say I am.

I go behind Dal and wrap my arms around him, in silent solidarity for whatever he's going through. _If_ he's going through something. I could be paranoid.

I hear the front doorbell ring, but leave it for Shane to get. Moments later, in strolls the one Christian Winchester and all Hell breaks loose. Before the mayhem, Dallas noticeably relaxes, any drops of bereavement he may have been feeling are gone and for a brief moment, he's more than his usual Dally level of happy. For moments, he's bathed in light, but then, it crumbles and he looks angry. Still, even the anger is better than the soul-sucking depression he walked in here with. He's happy-angry.

He says nothing, so I do.

"Christian! What are you doing here?"

"Howdy," Chris says, tipping his hat, which is actually my brother's hat, but Dallas hasn't seemed to ask for it back. "Oh, you know, in the area for work, thought I'd stop in to see my fave nephew."

But favorite nephew in question is confused. Christian and Cas look a lot alike. Dean knows it's not his papa, but with Dean missing Papa like he is, it's enough that he starts wailing, probably not knowing himself, why he's wailing. Dally is quick to scoop up messy Dean who's crying, "Papa! Papa!" over and over. He curls into Dal and Dal rocks him, mouthing, "Way to go," at Chris.

_Why's he being so mean?_

Chris seems to know. Then it clicks for me, they must have had some kind of fight on the phone, Chris is here to patch things up. I know they're not 'a thing' anymore (though man were they hot and heavy when they were) but they do talk and just because they're not together, it doesn't mean they don't fight, or that Chris isn't a jealous Winchester, let me tell you.

"Aww, I didn't mean t'make him cry Dals, c'mere Texas Ranger." Chris reaches for him and Dean, wails louder.

"Okay, pumpkin. Come to Daddy," I say walking over; Dean's diving for me. All the while, Michael watches, not liking that Dean's crying, painstakingly holding himself back from taking Dean from me.

"Daddy, I want my papa," he says. I want his papa too.

"I know Dean Bean, but Papa's going to come home soon, okay?"

"K-Kay," he says, nodding into my shirt, taking the opportunity to wipe his tears on my shirt, the one I put on to go to the park in. I rock him side to side, calming him, Pala's already sitting at my feet, wondering what's wrong with her boy, but this is a usual scene in our home and I can do this with my eyes closed. I squeeze Dean as I watch whatever's going to play out with Chris and Dal, play out.

Dally's got his arms crossed, firm disapproval on his face, while Chris is filled with pure mischief and I know my brother, he can't resist Chris's mischievous face. Impervious to its charms, maybe, but he loves it and won't be able to stay mad long. "You're glad to see me Dals, c'mon, admit it."

"Y'know, second thought, maybe I am glad. You need one of these." Without any warning, Chris is staring at the floor from over Dally's lap and Dally's laying down one heck of a spanking.

"Ow! Haha! Okay, Dals. Okay! I'm sorry for popping by."

"I'll tell you what's going to be popping, is my hand on your backside, for a long while, Christian."

Dean, not having picked up on his uncle Dally's discontent, see's what's happening and thinks it's funny; the spanking gets him to stop crying. "He's spanking him, Daddy," Dean giggles between sniffles.

Chris is yelping, but still finds the whole thing funny, even as he's twisting and writing on Dal's lap. "I've learned my, ow! lesson. Jesus, Dals!"

When Dal thinks he has learned his lesson, he lets Chris up and sits him on the bench seat, which is next to him. Michael, who watched on in annoyed silence the whole time, gets up to retrieve Dean from me, unable to contain himself any longer. "Come see me, Duck," he says opening up the blanket and letting the hot water bottle fall to the floor.

Dean's happy to go to Michael, Michael wraps him into the blanket with him. "I-I'm t-t-taking him away from all this m-m-mayhem."

"Don't go far Michael," I call after him. If he thinks he's getting out of being watched over, he's got another thing coming. I don't like how much he's shivering. "And you stay wrapped in that blanket, Sur."

"I will," he says for my ears, then mutters, "mother hen."

"I heard that Michael. I may be human, but we can hear things. Behave yourself." Fudging grouchy angels. Well now I just don't trust him. I set my attention back to the other two, for a moment. "I don't know what's going on between you two and truth be told I don't wanna know, just for the love of God, sort it out before Castiel gets home, or he'll think we all need spankings."

**

Sam stalks off after Dean and his grouchy little friend, who I kinda like—he's fucking hilarious, I don't know why Castiel hates the kid. I'm left with a none too pleased Dals. It's time to start working my charm; he says it has no effect on him, but it does too.

"Now Dals, before you get angry, just listen, I had a plan."

"Oh, I'm listening. Proceed."

"I left and I really planned on goin', I did, but I knew you were heartbroken." I make sure to put a lot of cute cockiness into my smile. He likes that.

"Really?" he says like he's trying to be mad, but it's getting harder. I can see his eyes smiling.

"Truth be told, so was I. I walked to my rental car," which was parked a ways down the street, "and sat in it for a few minutes. Then I thought, hey! For all anyone knows, I _could_ be in town on business and the chances of Castiel knowing my schedule are one in a thousand. Y'all are my family, stopping by is somethin' I would do. This way, I get to see ya for a few more hours." The company's so big, Castiel doesn't know my schedule, unless he were to inquire, which he doesn't always have occasion to.

I chance moving closer to him, he defrosts a little. "Sam don't seem t'mind. I gotta leave by lunch, for real anyway. Don't you wanna see me?"

He bites his lip. "'Course I do," he says quietly and grabs my wrist. Then, before I know it, he's pulling me to him and crying into my belly.

Yes. Tops can cry too. Breaks my fucking heart.

"C'mon Dals. Don't cry."

"Dammit Chris. Why you makin' me say goodbye to you twice?"

Fuck. Didn't think of that when I hatched this plan. All I thought about was being with Dals and that I knew he'd be crying when I left. I card my hand through his hair. "Fuck it. I'm not going."

"Chris—"

"—no. Spank me all you want, you just did anyway, in front of your brother I'm fucking adding." Yeah, Castiel and my father might do that, but Dal doesn't, at least he hadn't spanked me in front of anyone.

He freezes. Yeah. Exactly. He didn't realize he'd done it either. "It's okay Dals. Sam didn't blink an eye, just like you said he wouldn't. I think he has us all figured out, which means Castiel does too."

Dals looks up at me. "How did you feel about that?"

He means him spanking me in front of Sam. I shrug. I don't want to admit how I fucking feel about it.

_"Chris…"_

"It was fine."

"Fudge, Chris. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that, you're sensitive about that, not ready—"

Now I _have_ to tell him; I can't let him think that when it's not true. "No, okay? No I didn't hate it, well I did, _do_ , but it's complicated."

"That's not enough Chris."

"That's the best I can explain it, Dals. Sorry."

"Try. Again."

God dammit—but fuck if I don't love when he does that. "It's something I wish I didn't like, because the embarrassment factor is so strong, which, well doesn't feel so good. But I get such a rush from that embarrassment, this unbelievable non-sexual arousal. Plus, it's a great deterrent, since I really have no wish to court the consequence. I like it and I not-like it. Make sense?" I say, wiping his eyes.

He smiles. "Wow darlin', you've come so far. I'm proud of you."

Now it's my turn to blush. "Yeah, yeah. Get over it."

Dals pulls me down to sit on his lap. "Sooo, you're stayin'?"

"Yep."

He adjusts the hat on my head. "Good."

**

"Surprise everyone! I'm hoooo—oh?" At my kitchen table are my brother and brother-in-law, both of whom I'm responsible for, making out. I clear my throat.

They turn, see me, both their faces pale and they stand up, Christian falling out of Dallas's lap. "Brother Cas," Dallas says. "You're home early."

"I wanted to surprise, Dean." But looks like I got the surprise, though they do look pretty surprised.

"They're in the living room, a least, that's where they were headed last we saw them," Dallas's face, several shades of red dark.

I take a moment to loosen my tie and give them the look they know means they're on my list. I might as well start getting my home back together, as soon as I walk in the door—there's always some manner of damage control to attend to after I've gone away. I decide on asking Sam about this situation, rather than dealing with them in the moment. "Be here when I return."

"Yes, sir," they both say.

I leave my travel suitcase in the kitchen (as a reminder of my presence) and head to the living room with no luck. It looks like it was abandoned in haste, some of Dean's toys askew in every which direction.

I hear Pala's bark, it's coming from upstairs. I quickly divulge that they're in the bathroom, but before I enter, I can hear the ruckus, drifting through the cracked door.

"I told you a hot bath would do you good," Sam says. "You're not chattering anymore."

Huh? I know he's not talking to Dean. That's not the voice he uses for Dean.

"You didn't have to spank me, I would have gotten in on my own." That's Michael and it's the grouchiest I've ever heard him. I think he might want to kill Sam—figuratively of course. Even I know the angel would never hurt Sam.

"Oh I needed to spank you."

Is he giving Michael a bath? I should give the boy privacy, but… I have to see this. I'm encouraged by Dean's giggles. "Michael's havin' a bath Daddy. That's funny!"

"I'll show you funny," Michael says and I hear flicking of water.

"Stop it you, two."

I take that as my cue and head in, trying to hide the smirk on my face. My entrance does not go as planned. What I expected: Michael horrified, Sam bestowing one of his best smiles on me, Dean running into my arms shouting Papa with happy laughter. None of this happens.

I enter. Michael's face does read shock, but this alerts Sam to look behind. Me standing there, unexpected makes him jump and slide on the water that was presumably flicked about by Dean and Michael; Sam can't catch his balance and ends up in the bath. Dean watches on, not having seen me yet and laughs at his funny daddy falling in the tub, but when Pala runs to happily greet me, Dean's eyes follow her and upon seeing me, all laughter is wiped from his face. His eyes scrunch up and his little lip wobbles, and there's that two full second pause, before you know your kid is going to just screech and you're frozen, because you know there's no stopping it and you can't even plug your ears.

In that two seconds, I scoop him up, as Sam tries to get out of the tub, but with the way he fell, he can't gain purchase anywhere and he keeps falling back in. Instead of horrified, Michael is highly amused, trying to suppress his laughter at Sam and failing.

"Papa!" Dean shrieks, with all the breath he pulled in. Big fat tears roll down his face and I feel like the world's worst Papa. I leave him too much, this is his way of telling me. I hold him tight and rub his back how he likes.

"C'mon now, Kiddo. Papa's home. Everything's okay." I kiss his head, swaying him, continue to rub his back, murmur soft words to him and watch my dripping wet husband get out of the tub. I can't help but notice how hot he looks like that. Yes, I know I have crying Dean in my arms, but much as I do feel like an ass, Dean crying is a common enough occurrence, I can console him and check out my hot husband at the same time.

"Now this is a bath," Michael says, reclining, unconcerned over his nakedness, or Dean crying, which is a bit unusual.

Sam starts removing his clothes and grabs a towel, while Pala checks out the situation with her boy, whining at my feet. "Look Dean, Pala wants to know what's happened to you."

"Papa, goed awaaaay." His whole body shudders, he's still crying. "You're, you're gonna stay home?"

"Papa's home for awhile now." I was supposed to leave in two weeks for a short trip to Phoenix. I wonder if I can get someone else to go instead of me? Or perhaps take them with me? Dean hates planes, or I'd take them with me more often.

Dean starts calming down, but he's going to be, what does Sam call it? A cling on for the rest of the day.

"Well I'm going to get dressed," Sam announces. "You got him, Cas?"

"That's a damn shame. C'mere first, Baby."

Sam smiles. As has become usual, our real homecoming greeting will have to wait. For now, we kiss over Dean's head, I make sure to slip him a little tongue.

"I am still in here," Michael reminds us.

"What is going on with him?" I ask.

"Some spell, makes him shiver like he's cold. I'm warming him up, since he wouldn't keep his blanket on."

"Can I come out now? I'm starting to feel ridiculous."

Starting to?

"Well, you go get dressed, Sam. I'll take Dean down to the kitchen." I wordlessly ask Sam about the angel and he nods. "Michael, get out of the bath."

"I'll be bringing you some warm clothes, Sur."

"C'mon girl," I say to Pala.

Dean reaches toward the bathroom sink. "Soother, please, Papa," he sniffles in a pitiful little voice.

I reach into the drawer on my way out to grab a soother for Dean. They're not my favorite things, but right now, I can't deny him. "Here you go, Kiddo."

He accepts it, stuffs it in his mouth and rests his head on my shoulder. At least he's stopped crying. "There, now. Papa's home. No need for tears. Aren't there any games you'd like to play?" He's been talking for days, in each Skype conversation, about all the things we'll do once I'm home.

"Not right now, Papa," he takes out his soother to say.

"You just want some snuggles?"

"Uh huh."

"Me too."

Still wearing my favorite trench coat, with Pala following faithfully, I make my way down to the kitchen, where the two young (in my opinion) men are quietly cleaning up the kitchen from breakfast. I wasn't born yesterday, I know these two have been on again, off again since Dean's third birthday in Texas. I've had my eyes on them, but once in awhile, I lose track (as much as my family thinks I'm perfect, things can escape my notice—I don't miss much, but the odd thing). In my defense, those two are so up and down and down and up and fucking sideways! I'm not really sure what to do about them.

I sit down, gazing upon them like a quiet menace, with my boy cuddled into me, playing with the lapel of my coat. "Papa? We're gonna play somethin'?"

"We are. Is it time, yet?"

He shakes his head in an exaggerated way, as four year olds do. He's so cute. "Not yet, Papa."

"Okay, tell me when it's time." Pala makes herself comfortable by my side, once she's sure Dean is cared for.

"How was your trip, Cas?" Dallas finds the courage to ask.

"Exhausting." I don't mean to be short, but it happens when I'm trying to figure something out—decide things.

Sam strolls into the kitchen, thankfully breaking up the tension. Dallas takes in his change of clothes, Sam sighs. "I fell in the bath."

I like the change. He looked good before, but now he's wearing my favorite red t-shirt. "How's our boy, Cas?"

I bounce him a little. "Better, I think he's mad at me. Are you mad at Papa for being gone so long?"

Dean nods. "Yeah."

I chuckle. "Sam, would you mind helping me out of this?"

"Sure Cas."

Knowing Dean isn't going to let go, I stand up and let Sam de-coat me. As he does, I've still got a surreptitious eye on the pair. Thinking I'm too distracted to be watching them, I catch a gesture that they're trying to keep secret.

Dallas is at the sink, he's wearing a sleeveless zip-up hoodie, so the muscles in his arms are visible, especially the triceps, as he rinses dishes to pass to Christian, so he can put them in the dishwasher. He's still got his pajama pants on. I watch my brother carefully pass a dirty dish to Dallas to rinse, which Dallas will then pass back to Christian to load into the dishwasher. I notice something and it tears a little tear in my heart.

It's like they're savoring every moment as if it's their last together. I look at Sam. What if I were having my last moments with him? Back to them, I see Dallas's soft, special smile directed at Christian, one there are many versions of. There's a version of it for Dean, a version for Sam, there's even one for the blasted Axel who comes around every now and again. But this version is one I've only ever seen him give to Christian and I dare say, it's his most magical of his smiles. One of tender love and preciousness.

Why do they think they can't be together? Though, I suppose relationships always look simplified from the outside. I wish they'd allow me to help them more, but again I'm reminded of Sam and myself and how we stubbornly refused much of my father's wisdom. I look to the little boy in my arms, sucking his soother, caring about nothing except that I'm within his sight. I know this time with him is fleeting. Dean will grow up and I'll never get cuddles like this again. Him climbing in my bed will be over for certain—no teenager wants snuggles from Papa. Also for certain, if he ever finds someone, I will interrogate them mercilessly. While there is only so much I can force upon Dallas and my brother, I'll make sure Dean and his person accept my help—I'm not going to allow anyone to hurt Dean and that includes Dean. If I can save him the heartache Sam and I went through and that his uncles are going through now, I will. Why, that there is a person who deserves Dean is questionable in and of itself, I doubt anyone is exists who could possibly—

"—This is overb-b-board. I-I'm not cold anymore."

"You're still chattering your teeth, Sur," Sam says.

" _That_ cold. I'm not _that_ cold—cold enough to wear this get up you've got me trussed up in."

Michael's wearing a long, Canadian Goose Down Jacket, the one Sam ordered for me when he ordered us all thick coats for our road trip to Whistler that never happened. It's too big on him. "That'll keep you warm and I won't have to worry about keeping you in the blanket, since you're zipped in."

"I'm way better."

"Sit down and stop complaining," Sam says, slipping the rest of me out of my jacket, so I can hang onto Dean. Whenever I'm the center of Dean's world instead of Michael, I can't help, but feel a little bit cavalier over it.

Michael obeys Sam, and he tries to act like he hates all the love and care, but I think he likes it. "We were going to go to the park, Cas, but now that you're home, maybe some other plans?" Sam asks.

"The park is fine." In truth, I'm exhausted. The thought of being in a place, which will have a high concentration of screaming children is the last place I want to be, but I bet Dean was looking forward, I won't have him disappointed.

"Okay, we should get a move on. What are you two doing?" Sam asks in the direction of Christian and Dallas.

"We're um, that is… Cas?" Dallas says.

Sam looks at me confused. I shrug. "When I came in, they were making out in our kitchen, I told them to stay put."

"Dallas, Ethan," Sam says.

"We're sorry."

"It's not l-l-like, y-y-you two don't make out in the kitchen," Michael says.

"Enough from the peanut gallery, Michael." I focus on my brother and Dallas, I should be lecturing them, but I can't today, not after what I saw. Two fools, stupidly in love and I know it's the kind of love that doesn't come along often. Sure we can fall in love many times, or so I've seen, it's always just been Sam for me, but no matter how often we fall in love, there's always the one that tops all other ones. "You two, run along."

They both look at me like I've lost my mind. "Didn't you want to talk to us, Castiel?" my brother asks, looking like he's getting away with stealing cookies from the cookie jar and maybe they are, but like my father, I have a soft spot for true love.

"I did. Don't make out in my kitchen, understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Go. Before I change my mind."

They scurry off, knowing there is a real possibility of me changing my mind and put my attention elsewhere, to my son, so I don't think and worry on it too long. "Cas? You okay?"

"Yeah, Baby."

"You must suspect something's up with those two and you don't want to grill them? Bludgeon what you think they should do into their skulls?"

"No. I think… they're going to figure it out." I pick Dean up from under his armpits and swing him into the air, nestling my head into his belly, making him giggle. "But you, you're all mine, kiddo. You won't fall in love with someone and leave me, will you?"

"No, Papa. I'm gonna live with you forever."

"That's a good boy."

Sam's laughing at me. "I hate to be the one who tries to take Dean from you."

"No Daddy. I'm stayin' with Papa today. I'm even sleepin' in the big bed too!"

"You are, are you?" I say to him.

Bravely, he nods his head with a determined look on his little face, but it's the shuddery breath that makes me cave. He needs my solid nature, like air and as much as I joke and as irrational as I can be over Dean, I know he's going to need someone like me in his life always, who can live beyond me, since if things go how they should, I'll go before him. I will make sure it's the right person.

He nods, smiling behind his soother, knowing sleeping in our bed is something reserved for special times. I give him a little tickle to his belly, to widen his smile and pull some more laughter from him.

**

"Do you think my brother's high?" Chris says, genuinely confused.

I shrug. "Don't know. That's his business. I'm just glad we appear to have gotten off without getting into trouble. I thought for sure."

"What we gonna do now then?"

"You said you were stayin'?"

"Yeah."

"I've got school this week. You gonna come to campus with me?"

"If I have to."

"So are we…?"

"I dunno, Dals. I want to."

"And I want to. You know I'm good for you. Don't make me beg you Christian Winchester."

He gives me his special smile, the one he gives to no one else. "If I say yes, you're gonna spank me."

"I'm spanking you either way, cowboy, wouldn't it be better as my boyfriend?"

"Yeah, it would."

**

It's hard not to laugh at Michael, chattering like a wind-up toy, because it's fucking hilarious and thankfully I'm too distracted with Papa to pay him too much attention, but then there's the part of me that's concerned, so I look over now and then. I don't really know what the fuck's going on with Michael, but I think it's kinda like being sick. Daddy's got him anyway. I know whenever I get sick, he makes sure I have everything I need and even the extra things he doesn't know I need, but I inform him of. He'll do that for Michael.

Papa didn't even change his clothes to come to the park. His white shirt is probably going to get dirty, but he doesn't seem to care, which is good. I have to show him all the things he missed out on while he was gone. "This is my hideout Papa."

We're not even on the playground right now, but under the small crab apple tree near the playground. "Your hideout? What do you hide from?"

See? I have to show him everything or he'll miss out on important stuff. Daddy showed me this game while he was gone and right away, I _knew_ Papa would love it; he could probably take on so many bad guys. "I hafta hide from the bad guys."

"Oh. Are you a super hero Dean?"

Ugh. Papa doesn't know anything. Sometimes it's exhausting, but I love him, so I have to be patient, like Daddy said. "No, Papa. Ine a ninja!"

"A ninja? Wow. Can Papas come into the secret hideout, or it is just for ninjas?"

Huh. That's fucking hard to decide. I want Papa to come in, so I can show him everything, but it really is just a ninja hideout. Daddy did come in, but he was a ninja.

"You know Dean, I might happen to know how to be a ninja, if that's what's required."

Wait, Papa's a ninja too? I've always known he could totally kick ass, but ninja skills aren't just something everyone knows; it's like, a secret religion. "You're a ninja Papa?"

"If required, I could be anything I wanted to be."

Wow. Fucking wow. "Kay, Papa. You can come in the hideout." I won't let Michael in. He won't even learn how to be a ninja and says that angels are way better, so 'why would he need paltry human martial arts?' I don't know what 'paltry' means, but I think it means not good.

Papa crouches, so he can get into the hideout, when he dips under the branch, he sits on the grass and looks up at me. "What's our plan?"

"Plan?"

"For the bad guys. I assume this is where we plan."

I don't know how to respond to that; I don't usually plan, I just jump out and scare the fuck out of bad guys, using my killer ninja skills. Papa is really good at this.

"Do you want my suggestion?" Papa asks.

I nod.

"Okay, c'mere. Here's what we'll do."

**

"May I remove this ridiculous get up?"

Michael is still displeased. I'm surprised he opted to come. It is late August and it's hot, he looks ridiculous in the large winter coat. I told onlookers, he burns easy, they didn't question us further. "All right, you may remove the jacket. You don't appear to be cold anymore, but one chatter and it goes back on."

He can't get the thing off fast enough. When it's off, he sits, stewing, watching Cas and Dean from a far, mimicking Pala, who looks around every now and again, looking for her boy. "I know you're staying away because you know Dean wants Papa. That's nice of you, Michael."

"I don’t need to be attached to Dean's hip."

"No, but you usually kinda are."

I also know that despite his complaining, he came over because he _wanted_ some coddling—he may not enjoy it all, but there is some if it he longs for. I slide down the bench, so I’m closer to him and move the hair off his face. "You needed Dean today, which is why this is especially prominent, you staying back so he can hang with his papa, why I could barely notice you flinch in the bath when Dean was crying."

His brow frowns as much as a brow can frown. "His father had everything well in hand, no need for me."

"Dean always needs you, and it's okay for you to need him."

"I'm not allowed in his fort."

"You should have allowed him to give you ninja lessons."

"I don't need ninja lessons! I'm," he looks around, "an _angel_ for crying out loud."

"Lordy be, Michael. Well, thems the rules in the crab apple fort, guess you're stuck with me and you know, there's no tea, but I think we should talk."

"I don’t want to talk," he says sounding like every moody teen I've ever known. "I already did all the other things you asked me, why should I do that too?"

I'm not having his little tantrum. "I'm more than happy to have this chat later, over my knee Michael, if that's what you need."

He crosses his arms, pouting, staring at his crossed ankles at the end of his extended legs.

I nudge him. "C'mon, Michael. You know you'll feel better. I know I don't have the magic of Dean, but could you settle for me?"

 _That_ gets me a hard won quarter smile. "I'll even help you. You're upset with your uncle."

"Yeah, but a lot of good it will do me."

"Look, I'm not proficient in angel punishments, or their sense of morals—if any—or what he was thinking—"

"He's starting to think along the lines of my father, that's what he's thinking."

For all I know, that could be true, but whenever Michael's mentioned his uncle, it's with a reverence he doesn't have for his father, so it's not adding up. I know it's possible for a child to have false reverence, but Michael's not the type. Sure, he needs to please his father, that hasn't escaped my notice, but pleasing and having reverence for, are not the same thing. We've met Michael's uncle, in passing, but he's always curt and doesn't say too much, usually asking to speak with Michael in private. While Michael sometimes comes back chagrined, it's not the same as the when I know his father's spoken to him.

But has something changed? I think on it, then snap my fingers. "Michael, you were pretty vague on this whole thing. I know there are things you can't tell me, but I'm sure you can tell me this, was it really an accident, or did you purposely touch the item after your uncle told you not to?"

I know I've hit the jackpot when Michael looks horribly embarrassed. "Both."

"Both?"

"It was an accident, what I did to result in the shivering, but he did tell me not to touch it and I did anyway. But, he's always thinking I can't do things, because I'm the weaker angel."

"Is that really true? Has he said he thinks you're the weaker angel?"

"Well, no, but look at the facts. I wanted to open it, I should have been given permission in the first place."

"Ah, so you took matters into your own hands, wanting to prove to him you could, only you ended up making a mistake and winding up with his cold-eye of disapproval instead."

"Something like that, but he still could have given me the antidote."

"Was the little freeze charm the worst that could have happened?"

I can tell he doesn't want to admit it, but he does. "I could have blown up California."

I can't hide the shock. "Michael!"

"Please don't, that's why I didn't tell you in the first place. I can't have that look from you and from him on the same day."

I sigh the shock away. "Okay Michael, fair. You've already been punished anyway, but do you really feel, considering the ramifications, the punishment was unjust?"

He thinks on it, this time with the maturity of years, millennia in fact and it dawns on him. "I've been acting like a teenager!"

I laugh. "You are a teenager, corn muffin."

He buries his face in his hands. I pull him to me. "It's okay, Michael—"

"It's not okay. I threw a fit, you should have heard the things I said to him. I'm surprised he let me out of the house, but he did because he wanted me to come see you guys. I must have sounded juvenile, infantile, childish!"

"Michael, calm down. All will be well. I'm sure he knows when you come to us, you feel better. We're your family too, you're soothed by us whether you like it or not."

"How is that supposed to make me feel better? I feel worse. He thought of me and I complained about a punishment that wasn't really that bad, probably wasn't punished enough—the worst part was that ridiculous jacket."

"First, no, you're not going there, you were punished and that's it, if you want more, I'll spank you, but you're not running around with that. Second, because, someone from your angel family cares about you Michael, I want you to have that. It's important you do." I look over his face. "Put the jacket back on."

"What? Why? I'm not cold anymore."

Michael is a complicated scenario and it's why Tops and Taken it Hands, or brats, should never be put into boxes—we're all different and we all express these aspects of our personality in different ways. "You know why. Do it."

He grumbles, but he does. He relaxes and he's pissed all at the same time.

"You can apologize Michael and all will be well."

"One does not simply apologize to an angel, that is a human thing."

He says that now, but I don't think he believes it as much as he used to. "Fair." I can understand from other conversations with Michael, that to an angel, sorry must be groveling and appear as less than. "What would make you feel better?"

"Actually I…" he mumbles something I can't make out.

"What was that?"

" _This_ was helpful."

I want to jump up and down, squeeze the life out of him and feed him muffins, but I restrain all my Colt-level exuberance. "And I'm going to tell him he was right, that I did learn from the lesson."

"Good for you, Sweet pea."

He arches one perfect Michael brow at me. "You want to hug me, don’t you?"

"So bad."

He rolls his eyes. "If you must."

I don't wait for him to change his mind. I squish him to me, half to death and he actually laughs. His hair is wet. "You're sweaty."

"That's because I'm wearing a goose down jacket, from freaking Canada, in the sun."

Oh right. "Okay, okay. You can take it off, I think you get the idea." I help him out of the jacket and go back to squeezing him.

Then out of nowhere, we are attacked by ninjas.

"Hiya! Hiya! Hiya!" Dean jumps around making cute little chopping motions with his hands and kicking the air. Cas tries to mimic Dean, knowing his little boy has one eye on him at all times today. "Oh my god ninjas! Michael, what are we gonna do?"

Michael's eyes say he thinks this is ridiculous, but he plays along for Dean. "Oh no, whatever will we do? I can't possibly fight a ninja."

"No, I'm not fightin' you," Dean corrects him. "I'm gettin' the bad guys for you Michael. Can't you see'em? Hiya! Hiya! Hiya!"

"I don't see anything."

"Prolly because you're not a ninja."

It's hard not to laugh.

Dean and Cas keep jumping around, chopping and kicking. Finally, they stop. "We did it! We did it, Papa!"

"High five," Cas says, looking gorgeous, with rolled up sleeves, shirt still tucked into black slacks. There's a moment when the sun hits his face and he looks ten times more beautiful and then he's laughing, which brings his beauty to a whole other level. I can see all his teeth, his eyes are scrinched up, shielding his pupils from the sun—he's Cas at his happiest. "Way to go son! I'm so proud of you."

"Yeah, an', an', Michael, I saved you!" Dean says jumping.

Michael concedes. "You did, Duck," he says, picking him up and setting him on his torso, which works much better with the extra length, now that Michael has grown. Of course, Michael could always carry him easily with his angel strength, but it would always look curious. Michael fixes his hair and wipes off his face. "You're all dirty from being under the apple tree."

"I'm not! It's a hideout!" I let them bicker it out as Cas yanks me to him.

"Hey, I saved you, where's my hero-thank you kiss?"

I smile and kiss him deeply, remembering how much I missed him, my eyes tear up.

"Oh, Sam."

"I'm okay Cas, these are happy tears."

He holds me and wipes my tears as we watch Dean and Michael. "Looks like everything is back to normal," Cas says."

"Oh Cas, he'll be in our bed tonight, snuggling Papa." His silence is denial. "You spoil him."

He sighs. "It's not good for Dean to sleep in our bed."

"He won't be seventeen and in our bed, you have nothing to worry about, Cassy."

"Ha! I sure hope not." But even then, Cas would say yes.

"Is not!"

"Is too!"

"Not!"

"Too!"

Annnnnd they're fighting again. "Okay, c'mon you two, time to go home."

"But he's, he's—"

Cas takes Dean from Michael. "Come, tell Papa," Cas says and begins walking ahead to the direction of home, with Pala trotting beside them.

"I didn't do anything," Michael begins.

I put my arm around him. "C'mon Michael," I say laughing.

"What on Earth can you be laughing about? Today was a disaster."

"Naw. Not at all. It was a typical day in Winchester life, with all the crying and upset and laughter and happiness I know to expect—it was perfect."


	13. A Little Bit of Nostalgia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya! It's me, Mock. Remember me? Yes I'm still around. 
> 
> The infamous book project has taken me longer than I thought. Perhaps you'll be happy to know I'm VERY close to submitting it and I'll be back to writing and posting frequently. 
> 
> It's not just been the book project though, keeping me away. First, my favorite bunny, Chester went to Bunny Heaven. You may recall Chester's appearance in The Winchesters when Dean and Crew went to the farm to get a Christmas Tree. Next, my computer died and I was without a computer for a week, thus delaying, well, everything! 
> 
> I DO have stuff in the works, both in my mind and tucked away in Word Documents. All coming. I also have comments to get back to and I promise to get back to everyone! ...Eventually. 
> 
> But onto this. 
> 
> This is written for one of my dearest friends. I'll keep her anonymous (she'll know who she is), because I did not ask her if I could mention her woes, but I did write this with her in mind because she did indeed have woes. I super hope she enjoys this. It was supposed to just be a bunch of fluff and a few silly laughs to make her smile, but Dean took over at the end and did and said things that weren't supposed to happen. In other words, if this makes her cry, it's ALL DEAN'S FAULT. Feel free to spank him. Someone should. Sadly no one did in this chapter. 
> 
> We WILL get back to our regularly scheduled spankings VERY soon. #Mockpromises. 
> 
> I love every single one of you and miss you all. Be back soon.

~*Dean is 3. Michael is "12"*~

Daddy doesn't like it when I play with the bees, he says I might get stung, but I'm not scared. "We likes the bees, huh, Tigger?" Tigger's looking, just as enthralled as I am, but as usual, he plays it cool.

He shrugs. "Meh. They're aw'ight."

Whatever. He's kinda pissing me off today anyway. And also, no one says all right like that anymore. I crouch down to take a better look, putting my hands on the ground, making my overalls scrunch up. The sun is hot on my bare skin—I'm not wearing a shirt. Pala is beside us, watching me, tongue hanging out, panting. Daddy's not too far, working in the garden. "Watcha looking for Dean Bean?"

I point. "There's bees there, Daddy."

"You can look, but remember Daddy says not to touch."

Yeah, yeah, I _know_ , Daddy. Jesus fuck. Besides, I wouldn't want to squish the bees. I almost did that once and I was afraid I'd hurt a bee, but he was fine. "What's he doin', Daddy?" I ask. The little bee is upside down, crawling on the underside of the little white flower—it amazes me he can do that without falling off. Truth be told, I know what he's doing, but I like to ask Daddy and Papa and Uncle Dally and even Michael when he's in a decent mood. I like hearing them say. Pala barks, telling Daddy she wants to know too.

Daddy smiles. "He's collecting pollen, sweetheart. He takes it back to the hive and then he makes honey with it."

Something's fishy about that explanation. "How does he do that?"

"Um, well, I think it's like when we bake cookies. There's an old family honey recipe and he uses that to, uh, bake the honey."

Seems legit. "Oh. Okay, Daddy." I continue to watch the bees fly in, collect their honey ingredients and fly out.

"Yer in my sun, kid," Tigger says, all high and mighty. Fuck that guy.

"Youse is not nice, Tigger," I tell him, but I do move out of his sun lest he continue to act like a little bitch about it. By the time Michael shows up, I'm lying on the grass with my eyes closed— _not_ sleeping, just resting my eyes. I barely notice Pala barking at him, but I can tell, even with my eyes closed, that she's jumped up to greet him.

"Really, Mr. Winchester? No shirt, no shoes _and_ lying on the grass? Down. Down you furry menace."

"Shhhh," Daddy scolds. "I think he fell asleep."

My eyes pop open. "Is not sleepin' Daddy!"

"Sorry, pumpkin," Daddy says, but he doesn't look sorry.

I reach up toward Michael, who Pala has finally left alone. Sometimes, I just need to cuddle him. Michael obliges me. I put my head on his shoulder as he lifts me to him. "He's a bit, s-l-e-e-p-y. You can take him over to the swing and have a r-e-s-t with him if you want, Michael."

They always spell shit when they think I'll flip. Jesus, so long as Daddy's not talking about me going to sleep, we're cool. "Uh!" I whine toward Tigger. He's being a dickhead today, but where I go, he goes (excluding a select few times). Daddy picks him up and hands him to me.

"I'll be done, shortly corn muffin."

I can feel Michael scowling at Daddy. He does not like being called corn muffin. I laugh into his shoulder. "You think that's funny, do you?"

"Yeah. It's funny, Michael." I yawn.

"I see."

Michael brings us to the porch swing and we sit down, me still cozied up to him, Pala having followed, making herself at home near us. He starts rocking and I enjoy the breezy feel of the swing swaying, as I enjoy the heat of the day. I bet he thinks I'll fall asleep. "I actually am not trying to get you to sleep," he says quietly. His hand cards through my hair like he is, though.

To make sure Michael knows I'm not going to sleep, I sit up to look in his eyes. Michael's nice to look at, he's pretty. I could stare and stare at him forever. "What are you looking at?" Michael stops rocking.

My answer is a little giggle as I snuggle him, squishing into his shoulder again. I won't got to sleep. I won't. But I do want to snuggle him. It's a day for snuggling and breezy wisps and bumble bees and hot summer.

~*Dean is 5. Michael is 15. *~

"Papa, Michael's coming over?"

It's raining. Sam's out. All my boy can think about is Michael. I don't mean to be jealous, but I travel and when I'm home, I want Dean to myself. "Unfortunately," I say under my breath. "Yes, angel. Michael will be here soon."

He smiles. Huge. Instead of annoyed, like I want to be, I light with happiness. I love making Dean happy, even to my own personal dismay. Pala looks up at me, as if she knows what I'm thinking, giving me her approval. As if on cue, Michael slides open the door to the kitchen (I still think he should be knocking) and enters, sopping wet. "You're a drowned rat, Michael. Did you walk here?" I ask.

"No one would drive me, sir. I can't wait 'till I can drive again," he mutters. "Down, girl. Down. Can someone get this furry creature off me?" Dean giggles at Michael's plight with Pala, who runs to greet him, as per always.

Not that I feel sorry for him, but he's getting water everywhere and Dean's already up, making an attempt to get to him. "Michael!"

I grab my boy. "Just a sec, kiddo. We have to dry Michael off. Stay," I tell the angel and enjoy watching him hold back a scowl.

I bring Dean with me to retrieve a towel. By the time we return, Michael's taken off his shoes and wet socks. "I know you know what an umbrella is," I say to him. Jeez. As much as Michael studies humans for the sake of fitting in, he does a poor job of humaning sometimes.

"I… yes, sir."

Interesting response. I suddenly realize he didn't forget about umbrellas, so much as he simply wasn't thinking about them when he left his home. I know what it means. Something happened, something in which he needs Sam for. I wish I hadn't figured that out – I don't want to feel sorry for the angel, but he looks so pathetic and sad. I hand him the towel. "Sam will be home in a couple hours. I assume you're staying for dinner?"

He uses the towel to begin drying his hair. "If that's all right with you, sir?"

"Dean would like that." What? It's true. And speaking of Dean, he's looking at Michael in a peculiar way, like he's trying to decide something.

"Papa," Dean whispers in my ear, as Michael works to dry himself, not paying us any attention. "I can go see Michael now?"

"That's the plan. We're just waiting for him to be dry."

"Oh."

I set him down though and take the towel from. He removes his jacket and I take that too, which I get an odd look for. "Dean's been anxious to see you, I'm trying to speed up the process."

Dean looks up at me. "I can see him now, Papa?"

"Go for it kiddo."

Dean runs and jumps up into Michael's arms. They act like they've been parted for centuries rather than hours (Michael was just here yesterday). Dean looks at him like Michael's his whole world, I know – even if I don't like to admit it – that Dean _is_ Michael's whole world. Dean seems to know, intrinsically, that Michael needs some cheer today, so he nuzzles into Michael, rubbing his little cheek on Michael's shoulder. "I missed you. You were gone a long time."

"I saw you yesterday, but yes, it does feel like a long time, I suppose."

"I want to snuggle and cuddle. Let's watch cartoons. Papa, can we have some pizza?"

Dean loves pizza. Sam doesn't love how much Dean loves pizza, but he will make homemade pizza for Dean without fuss. "You can have pizza. I'll call Daddy."

Michael takes Dean into the living room, Pala hot on their heels, and I send a text informing Sam that his son would like pizza and that I'm happy to order one. I, of course, get a text in return saying he'll stop and get ingredients to make one.

When I enter the room to check on them, cartoons are playing, but Michael is fast asleep, on the floor. Pala's taking the opportunity to cuddle with Michael, lying by his side. Dean is squished into Michael, on his other side and lying on his back, his head curled into Michael's neck, and one of Michael's arms slung around him, which he's petting. He's also singing Michael, _Tomorrow_ from Annie.

I don't like to admit it, but the pair are a fascination. Watching them interact, intrinsically adjusting for the other, giving each other what's needed without words.

I'm about to walk back out, when I hear a little whisper. Dean's stopped singing. "Papa. _Papa._ Michael's sleeping."

"I know, kiddo. You going to stay here with him, or you want to come back into the kitchen with Papa?"

"I need to stay with him, Papa. Michael needs lots of love today."

"Yeah. Why?" I want to see if he knows.

He looks perplexed for a second, then his eyes light with the answer. "Because, Papa. He's not himself today."

Sam taught Dean that. I smile.

"You wanna help me, Papa?"

Oh God. I walked into that one. If I say no, I'm a terrible person and Dean will know. If I say yes, I'll have to _comfort_ the angel. Wait a tick. I'll have to comfort the angel, and if he wakes up to specter this, it will be worth seeing the look on his face. "What would I have to do, my boy?"

"Pet his hair and help me sing the song, okay?"

That's how Sam finds us when he returns. I'm carding fingers through Michael's hair, singing with Dean, as he pets Michael's hand. Instead of Michael's shocked face, I get Sam's, but it's not long before he's smiling at the two of us. "Look at you, Cassy," he says.

"Careful." There's only so much cheek I'll allow over this. Sam's wise enough to be quiet with that warning, but the expression on his face is telling.

"We're helping Michael, Daddy, like you say to."

"You are and that's a very good job, sweet pea."

I've been doing this long enough, so I stop and move to stand, just as Michael's eyes pop open, which means I'm sort of over top of him. His eyes pop wide. He forgets where he is momentarily and he only just realizes Dean is in the crook of his neck before he jumps up.

Yep. Reaction worth it.

Smiling, I make my way off the floor and grab my sexy husband, while Michael gets his bearings. He clutches onto Dean. Dean laughs. "We were making you feel better, Michael."

"That was unnecessary. I'm just fine."

"Was to necessary!"

"Was not."

"Was to!"

"Lordy be, you two. C'mon, to the kitchen. I believe there's a pizza to make."

Dean jumps up and Pala too, with intent on following her boy, faithfully. "I'm doing the cheese!"

Michael follows. "I'd like some cheese on the pizza – you always end up dropping half of it on the floor. I'm doing the cheese!"

I look at Sam a bit irritated by their perpetual fighting, but then I soften, recalling them earlier. "Don't try to figure them out, Cas," Sam says, reading my mind. "They're their own universe, with its own set of rules. I just guide them in the right direction occasionally when their energy becomes too much for them to handle."

I swoop in with a kiss. He's wearing a dark green t-shirt and the jeans that highlight his ass in the best of ways. "You're a good Papa, Cas," he tells me instead of making fun of me for having to sing and console Michael.

"Thank you, Baby."

"That really turns me on, you know and you know what else?"

"What else?"

"Dallas is home later, he could watch Dean and we could have some special Daddies Time." He waggles his brows at me.

Just at that moment, we hear barking and more shouting – Michael and Dean are arguing again. "Special Daddies Time has to wait, for now Michael and Dean wrangling," Sam says. "There's not going to be a pizza if you two keep going on like that," Sam warns walking into the kitchen.

I stay behind a moment, shaking my head at what my home has become. I wanted a Sam, and a Dean, hell, even a Dallas, but I never wanted a Michael. Only, and I'll never admit this out loud, I can't picture this house without him. Chaos and all.

~*Dean is 8. Michael is 12. (Post Michael re-modified) This is also post-Halloween. Dean is *still* 8 because he spends two years being 8.*~

"It's gonna be so cool, Michael. I bet Papa will let me have all kinds of sleepovers in this thing."

"Your Papa? Are we talking about the same Papa?"

I scowl at him. He's ruining 'moving into the fort day'. Poor Pala though, she's at the bottom, barking. She wants to come up too. Thankfully, we planned for this eventuality when building the fort. Papa wanted me to have everything, including sleepovers – so there Michael! "C'mon girl." I whistle and direct Pala to the lift we built. It's secure, and looks a bit like an elevator. When she's in, I start pulling on the rope.

"Here, let me do that. You're going to drop her."

I continue to scowl at him. I can do it. Papa made sure it would be easy for me to do, even with Pala's weight and even if the rope did slip from my hands, there's a safety mechanism, the palavator will stop in mid-air after each pull, unless the release valve is pulled. There's also a ladder right beside, so a grown-up could fetch her if I couldn't get the palavator working again. But I don't feel like arguing with Michael, so I give him the rope. He does it faster than I do anyway.

When Pala's up, she pounces me, excited as I am to check out the new digs. I fall backward and she licks my face. "Yech. How many times do I have to tell you not to let her lick your face? You've seen where she sticks that tongue."

I ignore him for the most part, and let Pala lick me to her heart's content, before I sit up and scritch under her chin. "What's wrong with you today? You're so grouchy."

"If you must know, I'm a nervous wreck. Have you any idea how many tragedies befall humans that are related to tree houses? This thing is too high."

I do feel a little bad when he worries about me, but mostly, I'm annoyed. "Go home then Michael. I want to enjoy this."

That wounds him. But also, there's no way he's going home today no matter how much I hurt his feelings. Not with me way up high in a tree, about to fall to my death at any moment – apparently. "If you think I'm going anywhere, you're sadly mistaken. In fact, I decree that you're not to come up here without me."

"You're not the boss of me Michael, Papa and Daddy are. And Uncle Dal, too."

Speaking of, Daddy appears with a big tray of our favorite snacks. "Send the palavator down, Dean! I've got treats for you two."

He could just climb up with them, he's Daddy and pretty damn amazing and strong, but he knows I like using the palavator. We send it down and pull the awesome snacks up as Daddy does climb up the tree, using the ladder. Papa and I have plans to maybe install stairs someday, but that's a plan for another summer. "Wow, looks pretty good up here, Dean."

"Michael doesn't think so."

"This is dangerous, Mr. Winchester."

"Dean's going to behave himself when he's up here, Michael. You have nothing to worry about."

Michael pouts against the railings, Daddy continues to gush about the job Papa and I did. "Do you think Papa will let me have sleepovers up here?"

Daddy's face looks concerned in that way I've learned means he doesn't want to say no, but that he doesn't think so. "We'll have to ask him. He does spoil you, Sur."

When Daddy leaves, Michael does come over to check out what Daddy made for us. He can't resist muffins with strawberry jam and even if he denies it, he does like the chocolate croissants. We eat in silence for a bit and I feed Pala the special snacks Daddy brought for her too. "I'm sorry I told you to go home, Michael. I didn't mean it." I really didn't. I was mad for a second, but truth be told, I have other motives for being alone in a tree house with him.

I want to, kiss him.

I've liked Michael awhile now. Things got kinda heavy last Halloween. Stuff has happened, we've kissed, but we haven't in what feels like ages. I want to kiss him all the time. He's so, so pretty and I love him. I want to marry Michael someday. "I, I won't come up here without you, if you don't want me to," I tell him.

He takes a bite of his muffin, chews then thinks some more, before shaking his head. "No. There will be times you'll need to come up here without me. I was being, well, practical from a safety perspective, but there are going to be times you'll want to come up here with friends and I won't be here."

Wow. Michael's being so, rational. "I promise I'll be careful."

"You will, or there really will be a decree."

I nod. "Michael? I'm going to marry you, you know."

"Don't be silly, a human can't marry an angel."

"This one will."

"You're eight. Don't you want to explore other options?"

"Nuh-uh. I'm going to marry you and we'll have a Star Wars wedding."

"If you think I'm dressing up like Princess Leia to marry you, you're sorely mistaken."

"But you will marry me?"

"I never said that."

He doesn't have to. I smile and snuggle up to him, Pala curls in with us and we stuff our faces, until Daddy calls us in for dinner.

~*Dean is in his teens*~

"C'mon Michael, stick it in me already." No matter how much I fucking beg, he won't fuck me. He just kisses me like the world is on fire and we've got to release all the fucking passion into each other, before we go up in flames with it. We're in perpetual second base land. Second baseurtory. Secburgatory. Something like that.

"No. No. No. Absolutely not."

"So we're just going to kiss forever."

"Yes."

"Do you have any idea how stupid that sounds?"

"We could stop kissing altogether?"

Fuck that. I'll take it. Secburgatory, giddy up. I launch into another kiss. The two of us unable to keep our hands off each other, grasping, gripping, pulling, pushing, going down in beautiful flames together.

*Dean is 17. Michael is 25ish. Summer before Winchester Way begins. This is August and after they would have gone to Texas.*

Michael doesn't like it when I lie on the ground, he never has, but the August day has inspired enough tranquility in even him to have him sit, right beside me, as I lie on my stomach and pick the clover flowers. I can feel him watching me and it makes me feel shy. We're beginning something new, I can feel it. I roll to my back. "Take a picture, it'll last longer." I throw a fistful of grass and flowers toward him, but they don't make it near him, and just sprinkle back down to the Earth.

"What are you talking about? I have a photographic memory. Pictures are for paltry human minds."

I shake my head. "Never mind, Michael. Why you looking at me?"

"I always look at you. I've been looking at you since you were small."

"Whatever." He wants to be aloof, he can be aloof. "That cloud looks like a giant dick."

"Must you be so lewd?"

"C'mon. It's a game Daddy and I used to play."

"I am most certain you and Daddy Winchester never played a game in which you named clouds, human genitalia."

"Well, Daddy might have seen other things, but that's what I see."

"You have a one track mind."

"Only when it comes to you, Baby."

"Well, I don't want to fuck."

"Since when?"

"Since… Dean? Shut up." He pulls me to him, dragging me by my foot.

"Hey! You're going to get me all dirty," I tell him, but I'm laughing.

"We're already dirty." He pulls me into his chest and I snuggle in. We're both looking at the sky now.

"Yeah, I'm dirty, Baby." I feel his eyes roll, he squeezes me.

"Look," he says and points to the sky. "That one looks like a turkey."

I laugh my ass off. "A turkey?"

"You're right. On second thought, it looks remarkably like a giant hand."

I catch his drift, especially when he pats my ass.

"Okay, okay. Jeez. No sex for Dean today."

He ignores my pouting. "Look, that one's a muffin."

I laugh. "Yeah it's a bit like a muffin – Daddy's been baking in the sky." We watch awhile more. "Hey, that one's a little like Pala."

"The furry, mutt?"

"Pala was a purebred and you know it."

He's quiet.

"You miss her."

"That dog was an annoyance."

"So am I."

Quiet.

"C'mon, you liked her a little."

Quiet then, "I appreciated her devotion to you."

"…and you loved that she adored you. Admit it, or I'm telling Papa all the depraved things you've done to me."

"You need a spanking."

"Fine don't admit it – I know."

More quiet as we continue to take in the Summer day. "Okay she was an admirable creature. Happy?"

"Overjoyed." I play with the cotton of his blue button-down shirt (which I don't know how he wears in this heat). I do like to envision Pala running across the sky, looking down and checking in on me, like she used to do when I was small.

I think Michael notices when I'm about to tear up because, " _That_ one looks like a penis."

I look at him shocked for a moment then we both burst into laughter. Moments like this with Michael are rare – when we're snuggly like when we were kids. We spend a bit more time, lying in the peace and tranquility of the other, until Uncle Dal's suddenly over top of us.

We both hop up. "Uncle Dal, you're here," I say. He's been on tour, he pops in and out when he misses us. "What you doing here?"

"Just stopping in to see my favorite nephew. Hi Michael."

"Hello, Dallas."

Uncle Dal is like sunshine. Better than – he's got more rays than the sun. "What you cowboys doin'?" Uncle Dal adjusts his black cowboy hat. Uncle Chris still has the Chesney hat, which he keeps whether they are on again, or off again – except that one time.

"Nothing special, just chilling, Uncle Dal."

Later, when we're all around the kitchen table for dinner, I get all fucking nostalgic. Here we are, a strange and mutated, but loving family. We have our share of ups, downs and sideways, but we always end up here. The breeze is blowing in from the sliding glass door and the smell of sun and flowers wafts in. And another thought occurs to me, a type of thought that only happens every so often, randomly, but happens nonetheless: The ghost of old Dean.

I've been told he's not there, in my head anymore, that he's been erased from my psyche – at least that’s what the doctors believe, but I know the doctors are wrong. He may or may not be there in the physical sense, I'm not sure about that much of it, but he's there in some way even if it's just the occasional zephyr of a memory, or even the _essence_ of him beating through my veins.

He's here now, as if he just blew in the door to check up on me; to see if his investment paid off. I'd like to think, he thought it did, watching me with my family. Papa with his stern, but loving demeanor, Daddy with his eternal optimism and strength, Uncle Dal with his sunny disposition and laughter, and Michael.

Michael.

Some days, I really do want to punch Michael in the dick. But other days, I love Michael so much it physically hurts. I don't want to know life without him.

"Whatcha thinking 'bout, Dean Bean?" Daddy asks.

"Just a little nostalgia, Daddy. You ever wonder what Pala would think if she were here?" I keep my Old Dean thoughts to myself.

Daddy smiles a smile that says he's wise to me, maybe not about Old Dean, but that I'm having more thoughts than I'm letting on. "I think she'd think how happy she was that her boy grew up so nicely." He combs a hand through my hair. "Then she'd bark at Michael to tell him how much she missed him."

"That _hound_ was always pestering me. It's a wonder she liked me so much. It's not like I was all that kind to her."

"You weren't cruel to her," Daddy points out.

"True. But I wasn't overly friendly."

"You didn't have to be," Uncle Dal pipes up, his eyes sly. "It was her way of thanking you. She took notice of how good you were to her boy."

It's worth it and more to see the ten shades of color Michael turns. To everyone's surprise, it's Papa who saves him by moving the spotlight. "If Pala were here, she'd be thinking about getting Dean's next slice of ham from his plate."

It's my turn to blush. "I only gave her my ham when she looked really hungry."

"So I suppose all the time then. Huh, half pint?" Uncle Dal says.

They're all back to having a laugh at Dean, but I'm okay with that. As they return to eating, I watch everyone and enjoy them in this moment; happy, contended. I also envision two ghostly figures, Old Dean and Pala, off to the side, watching us. Old Dean crouches down to skritch under her neck and Pala gives me a happy bark of approval. Old Dean stands and winks at me. When he turns to walk away, Pala following by his side, he's got a tail. A long black and orange striped tail.


End file.
